Beyond the massive walls, the largest castle Dalia had ever seen rose before them. The structure seemed to reach into the sky, with its sharp towers piercing upward, casting shadows across the courtyard. The castle, made from dark gray stone, looked as though it had been carved from a single block, devoid of any decorations or ornaments that could soften its severe appearance. Beneath its towering presence, only wild grass dared to grow, stretching as far as the eye could see. There were no trees, flowers, or even vines to add a touch of life to the austere walls.
The entire place felt forbidding and lifeless.
At the foot of the grand staircase leading to the bronze doors stood the chamberlain, flanked by attendants. Dalia felt a pang of disappointment—why had she secretly hoped the king himself would be there to greet them?
“Lady, the House of Havengard welcomes you to our lands,” the chamberlain said, bowing deeply. The attendants followed, bowing their heads with mechanical precision. Caspar dismounted, handing the reins to one of the attendants without a word of farewell, and walked toward the castle. Watching his retreating back, Dalia also dismounted, helping Lucia gracefully to the ground as Torus assisted Mariella.
“Would the Lady like to be escorted to her chambers to refresh herself?” The chamberlain lifted his gaze to meet Mariella’s eyes. His expression was empty, almost hollow. The other servants kept their eyes downcast.
Mariella stiffened, tilting her chin defiantly but still standing a head shorter than the chamberlain. “My clothes...” she began, clearing her throat as her voice wavered, “were left behind...”
“Fresh garments have already been prepared for you in your room,” the chamberlain responded coolly.
“This way, ladies,” an older servant gestured to Dalia and Lucia.
“Dalia will go with me,” Mariella insisted, trying to sound assertive, but her uncertain glance betrayed her. The servant cast a questioning look at the chamberlain, who simply nodded.
Dalia handed her horse’s reins to one of the mute attendants and followed the chamberlain and Mariella deeper into the castle. As the chamberlain opened the massive doors, he cast her a fleeting look, irritation evident in his eyes.
Dalia knew from books that the castle they now entered was ancient. Legend said it had stood there since before people walked these lands. Inside, there were few windows, so even during the day, numerous candles burned, casting a warm glow. Each room they passed was crammed with furniture and trinkets, with a recurring motif of cats appearing in paintings and decorations.
The corridors were busy with servants, none of whom paid them much attention as they hurried about their duties. The castle was vast, more like a maze than an organized structure. It was evident it had been expanded repeatedly, with rooms and hallways added at the whims of its various rulers. This eclectic mix of styles distinguished it from the cold simplicity of other fortresses, like the austere seat of the Valeris family.
Mariella walked beside Dalia with her head held high, trying to appear unbothered by the grandeur and opulence surrounding them. For her, this place was supposed to become familiar, though the confusion in her eyes suggested otherwise.
At last, they reached the end of the long corridor, where the chamberlain opened an ornate door, inviting them in. The room exuded an air of old-world elegance. In the center stood a large bath, hidden behind a screen, which made Mariella sigh in relief and longing.
She opened a wardrobe, silently examining the exquisite fabrics inside. Dalia, tempted to lounge on the plush chaise covered in fine fabric, sat instead on a wooden stool, feeling dirty and still damp from the journey.
“Look, Dalia,” Mariella said, running her fingers over the intricate embroidery on a gown. “They’re all made from beautiful fabric, but…” she frowned, “they look so old.”
“Hmm. They probably belonged to someone else. Fashion changes over time, but I’m sure you can have someone tailor them to your liking,” Dalia said, resting her chin on the windowsill. The view encompassed the entire courtyard.
“You’ll like the view from the window,” Dalia said. Two stable boys were leading more horses into the yard, one of them stifling a yawn.
“Hm...” Mariella hummed absently, lost in thought as she examined the array of bottles and perfumes on the vanity. She turned at the sound of a knock on the door.
“Lady, my name is Lidia, and I will be your attendant,” the girl said with a bow. Dalia recognized her from earlier, lined up with the other servants. Lidia’s neat, fiery red hair tied in a knot made her stand out.
Mariella looked at her with an expressionless face.
“I already have an attendant,” Mariella said politely, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Her name is Lucia.”
Dalia shifted her gaze back to the courtyard, where she noticed Caspar and Emil. Emil appeared agitated, gesturing wildly as he spoke. Caspar, with his back turned to her, gave no indication of his reaction.
“She was likely shown to her room on the floor below,” Lidia said, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness.
“Fine,” Mariella said, raising her voice to signal the end of the conversation. “Could you prepare a bath for me? And fresh clothes for my companion as well.”
“O-of course!” Dalia couldn’t see Lidia’s reaction, but she suspected that the request for extra clothing had unsettled her.
The door closed with a sharp click.
An older man joined Caspar and Emil outside. Dressed plainly, he smoked a pipe similar to Caspar’s. He seemed to calm Emil, whose shoulders dropped in a tense resignation. A sudden noise behind her caught Dalia’s attention. She turned to see Mariella sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling in awe.
“Oh, I’ve never seen such a beautifully painted ceiling,” Mariella whispered.
Dalia glanced up. The mural was an elaborate mix of scenes from Traturian folklore. The first depicted the abduction of Balilea by demons—a punishment for leading virtuous men astray and indulging in vanity. The other scenes were unfamiliar. She looked back out the window; the trio of men had already dispersed. She turned to face Mariella, whose short legs dangled from the high bed.
Lidia returned, carrying steaming buckets of water with another maid. Behind them, an older woman squeezed into the room, her gaze immediately assessing Dalia.
“You need a bath too,” the older woman said with a frown.
“I wouldn’t refuse, but I won’t leave until Lucia returns,” Dalia replied firmly.
The older woman snorted quietly and left the room, shutting the door behind her with a sharp snap. Lidia sighed, irritated by the woman’s disregard for basic manners. Soon, both maids left, leaving the room quiet. Mariella resumed gazing at the murals with a vacant stare.
“Did you see how they looked at me? The people at the market,” Mariella said softly, swallowing hard. Her voice trembled slightly.
“You draw attention,” Dalia said, trying to sound cheerful, though a deep unease gnawed at her.
“Did you smell it too?” Mariella asked. “That scent in the forest... Caspar’s entire unit was drenched in it.”
Dalia didn’t respond, her eyes shifting back to the courtyard.
The door opened again.
Lucia entered, led by the older servant woman. She looked completely lost, likely from being shuffled around. Dalia’s heart sank for her, especially when Mariella didn’t so much as glance her way.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Dalia said, more for Lucia’s benefit than Mariella’s. She touched Lucia’s shoulder reassuringly. Lucia’s eyes met hers, wide with fear, and Dalia sighed. The older maid waited impatiently by the door, her eyes narrowed with displeasure.
Dalia followed the woman through the winding halls of the castle, descending into the lower levels where the servants’ quarters were. The walls grew colder and more austere with each step. In the silence, Dalia attempted some small talk.
“What should I call you?” she asked, keeping her tone polite.
“Greda,” the woman muttered without turning her head. Dalia sensed the conversation was over. Greda quickened her pace, as if eager to be done guiding her.
Beautiful violin music wafted from one of the rooms they passed. Dalia caught a glimpse through a half-open door—a striking young man playing an instrument that barely resembled a violin. One hand delicately plucked the strings while the other cranked a small wheel, pressing the instrument to his side like a lover’s embrace.
“Here,” Greda said, nodding toward a room and raising an eyebrow, waiting for Dalia to stop staring. Inside was a small basin, steam rising from boiling water on the hearth, filling the room with a cozy warmth.
“You can get in,” Greda muttered, taking a seat by the fire. Her posture made it clear she wasn’t leaving. Dalia sighed, accepting the situation, and began peeling off her damp clothes.
“I don’t know what I’ll dress you in. You’re so tall that everything I have barely reaches the calves,” Greda remarked, frowning. She extended her hand for Dalia’s garments. “Hand me those rags; I’ll send them to be washed later.”
When Dalia sank into the tub, she had to tuck her legs in to fit the cramped space, but the warmth of the water more than made up for the discomfort. The tension seeped from her muscles as she relaxed. With her back to Greda, she carefully removed her mask, savoring the cool air on her face.
“We expected you weeks ago,” Greda said sharply, her gaze as keen as a hawk’s. “You’ve got the back of a laborer,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Thank you,” Dalia replied with an ironic smile, rolling her eyes. “The princess was unwell, so we delayed our departure.”
“Frail, is she?” Greda tilted her head, more a statement than a question. “Let’s hope not as frail as young Lord Fredryk.”
She busied herself behind Dalia, rummaging through cabinets and pulling out various items.
“What happened to Prince Roderyk?” Dalia asked, eyes fixed on her knees, avoiding Greda’s piercing look. “The news of his sudden departure caught us by surprise.”
Greda chuckled, a rough sound like someone who hadn’t laughed in a long time. “Trying to get me into trouble, are you?” she muttered, half-laughing. After a moment, she laid a soft pile of clothes on the table behind Dalia. “This is the best I could find for you. It’s men’s clothing, but it should fit.”
The door creaked as Greda left.
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Dalia lingered in the warmth for a moment longer, letting the grime and fatigue of travel wash away. When she emerged and dressed in the clothes Greda had provided, she found herself clad in the Havengard colors—black, white, and gold. The fit was odd, the garments clearly tailored for a man, with fabric bunching awkwardly in places.
Outside, Greda was waiting. The moment Dalia closed the door, the older woman led the way through the maze-like corridors. The deeper they ventured, the more confusing the layout became. Greda’s stride was brisk and assured, never glancing back to check if Dalia was keeping up, guiding her straight to Mariella’s chambers.
Inside the princess’s room, silence reigned. Mariella sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel, staring forlornly at the gown draped before her. Lucia sat in a corner, reading, clad in a simple black dress with minimal embellishments.
Lucia glanced up, shaking her head disapprovingly at Dalia’s new attire.
“We’re expected in the throne room soon,” Lucia said, her eyes fixed on Dalia.
Dalia nodded at Mariella, receiving a mere shrug from Lucia in return.
“How are you feeling? Are you tired?” Dalia asked, concern in her voice.
“When will my brother arrive?” Mariella whispered. Dalia walked around the bed to kneel in front of her.
“He should be here within a week. He must miss you terribly,” Dalia said, hoping the gentle lie would bring comfort.
Mariella reached out, slipping her hand under Dalia’s mask to caress her face tenderly.
“These colors don’t suit me,” she said, a touch of sadness in her voice as her eyes returned to the dress, which seemed more imposing now.
“With the right accessories, you’ll look stunning,” Dalia assured her, glancing at Lucia and nodding. Lucia set her book aside and stood quickly, as if eager to dissipate the tension. “Your belongings should already be here. They were sent ahead of you...” Dalia looked around, but there were no trunks or chests in sight.
“I found the princess’s jewelry in the dresser,” Lucia announced, helping Mariella to her feet as the towel slipped from her shoulders.
In the second drawer, Dalia’s fingers brushed a necklace she had never seen before—a crimson-cornered choker, gleaming with blood-red stones. Extravagant and likely worth a fortune, it seemed out of place for Mariella. It lay there, neglected, untouched for who knew how long. Dalia shut the drawer and resumed her search, choosing instead a more modest but beautiful set: an amber necklace and matching earrings that had once belonged to Mariella’s mother. They would be perfect for today.
Turning back, Dalia noticed Lidia watching her. When had she entered? The girl’s expression was hard to read—embarrassment?—before she quickly composed herself and looked away as Lucia fastened the heavy gown on Mariella.
Dalia handed Mariella the earrings and began clasping the necklace around her neck.
“Amber? We packed far more expensive jewelry!” Lucia protested indignantly.
“It will do,” Mariella said with a soft smile, echoing as she put on the earrings. All three stood before the mirror, assessing their work. The ornate gown clashed with Mariella’s delicate features, and the jewelry seemed mismatched to the dress. Though it fit perfectly, the gown was clearly meant for a woman far older.
“It’s as good as it’ll get,” Mariella sighed, then turned to Lidia, who straightened immediately. “Lead the way.”
Lidia guided them to the ground floor of the castle. The closer they got to the throne room, the more chaotic the castle became. Dalia matched Lidia’s pace.
“Where are the rest of the princess’s belongings?” Dalia asked. “Her gowns and other items were supposed to arrive a week ago, yet all I found was jewelry.”
“They’re in the next room, still unpacked,” Lidia admitted, blushing. “We didn’t know where to place them because...” She trailed off, cheeks reddening. “We don’t know where the princess will be staying.”
Mariella's cheeks flushed slightly, as if the full weight of her future role had just dawned on her. When they reached the top of the stairs leading to the throne room, the chamberlain was waiting for them. He nodded and disappeared behind the grand doors, ready to announce the princess.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Lucia whispered cheerfully. Mariella, however, looked as if she might faint, the immense burden of the Havengard legacy pressing down on her.
“Stand tall,” Dalia murmured, stepping closer. “You look beautiful.”
The doors swung open, and the chamberlain’s voice boomed through the hall:
“Princess Mariella of House Valeris!”
Every face in the throne room turned toward Mariella, a wave of murmurs full of admiration and curiosity rippling through the crowd. Despite her anxiety, Mariella lifted her chin and stepped into the room, aware of the significance of her entrance.
The room held fewer than forty guests—a number that struck Dalia as both surprisingly intimate and unnervingly large. Despite the formal announcement, most attendees continued their conversations. In one corner, a striking young man played an unusual instrument. Mariella walked confidently toward the throne, and those in her path moved aside with warm, welcoming smiles.
At the throne, the king stood waiting. To Dalia’s surprise, he appeared much younger than her father, no older than fifty. His face lit up as he beheld the princess.
“My dear!” he clapped his hands, causing the chains around his neck to jingle. “At last, we meet! Even lovelier than they said, wouldn’t you agree, Fredryk?”
“Absolutely true,” said the young man standing beside him, a broad smile spreading across his face. Dalia’s throat tightened. This was Prince Fredryk? He looked younger than she had imagined, almost boyish. His sky-blue eyes met Mariella’s with warmth, and his light hair fell gracefully to his shoulders. He gently took Mariella’s hand, pressing it to his lips in a soft kiss. Though he was twenty-seven, he appeared no older than Mariella herself. His slender, pale hands looked almost as fragile as porcelain.
While Dalia’s concern grew, Mariella’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at her prince. Lucia, on the other hand, stared at the scene with her mouth agape. Dalia nudged her just as the king spoke up.
“Thank you for ensuring Princess Mariella’s safe arrival. The roads are treacherous these days.”
Dalia and Lucia bowed deeply, showing proper respect to both the king and the prince.
“Would you care to see the royal gardens?” Fredryk asked, still holding Mariella’s hand. He turned to Dalia with a polite smile. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” Dalia and Lucia bowed again and slowly backed away.
“Don’t be shy—there are refreshments waiting for you. Just a taste of what’s to come at the wedding feast!” the king called after them.
They retreated to the corner of the room, standing in silence for a moment, exchanging glances. Finally, Lucia grabbed Dalia’s arm and hissed through clenched teeth, “He’s just a boy!”
Dalia shook off Lucia’s iron grip. “I know. Calm down,” she whispered firmly.
Lucia glanced around nervously, even though their backs were to the wall. She tugged Dalia closer, speaking into her ear. “I passed through the servants’ quarters. There’s talk that something’s been off with the royal family for a year now. They say the king has been sending vast sums to the church and...” She stopped abruptly as two older women in ornate gowns approached, looking like living decorations.
“It’s not every day one sees an acolyte of Astra, is it, Olla?” said the taller woman to her companion. “Have you ever seen one before?”
“Of course not, Aza,” Olla replied seriously.
Dalia bowed respectfully. “It’s an honor to know our humble order is recognized beyond our borders,” she said with a measured tone.
Both women offered polite smiles, though their eyes betrayed a mix of curiosity and something more elusive.
“You’re tall,” Aza noted, scrutinizing Dalia. “But not particularly built. I thought you were supposed to protect the future queen?”
“A queen’s protection isn’t only physical,” Dalia said calmly, meeting their gazes.
“I hope you’re not here to convert us,” Olla chuckled, though her laughter was empty.
“Of course not,” Dalia replied.
“How long have you served your lady?” Aza continued, tapping her foot to emphasize the question.
“Since childhood,” Dalia answered evenly.
Aza narrowed her eyes, studying Dalia as though she were an intricate puzzle. After a moment, she laughed, a high-pitched, almost childish sound.
“Tell us about the princess!” she chirped excitedly. “We’re simply dying to know, aren’t we, Olla?”
— True, — Olla agreed, though her tone was more serious. — The princess is quite unique. She even looks so... different.
Dalia bristled at the comment.
— We only learned about the change in succession on our way to the capital.
— Really? — Aza giggled, covering her mouth in a dramatic gesture. — It must have been quite the shock for the princess!
— Prince Fredryk is a much better match. At least he didn't turn out like his older brother, — Aza added. — He’s such a sensible man, isn’t he?
— Roderyk was always too proud, too certain of himself, — Olla continued, her gaze drifting as though reliving old memories. — Always thought he knew what was best for the kingdom. He quarreled with his father, blamed Maurycy, and left. It’s not a topic we revisit fondly.
At the mention of Maurycy, Aza crossed herself, though it was a gesture unfamiliar to Dalia.
— Maurycy? — Dalia echoed, catching onto the name.
— Oh, yes! — Aza confirmed, placing a hand over her heart, her eyes glowing with a near-reverent light. — A devout man, so holy. He came to Renil a year ago, and now we can’t imagine life without him, isn’t that right, Olla?
— Indeed. He’s in the church every day; you really must meet him, — Olla said, her voice full of respect.
Before Dalia could respond, she felt a firm tug on her arm. She turned to find Lidia standing there, looking uneasy.
— Where is Lady Lucia? — Lidia whispered, as though she didn’t want anyone but Dalia to hear.
— I don’t know, she slipped away when these ladies approached... — Dalia glanced back to see Aza and Olla already engrossed in conversation with someone else. Lidia released her grip and drifted off, leaving Dalia alone.
Dalia took the chance to inspect the tables brimming with food. Most of the dishes were unfamiliar to her. She picked up five small cakes, each glistening with icing that slowly dripped under the sunlight.
— Dalia! — Rady called out, pride evident in his voice. — Look at me, a guest at the royal feast! — He puffed up his chest. — Who was that redhead?
— Lidia. Mariella’s new handmaid, — Dalia said between bites. The icing was sweet, and the cake melted in her mouth.
— Not bad. Marius was looking for you, — Rady pointed to the far side of the hall, where Marius stood next to a musician. — Take one more for the road, — he said, dropping another cake onto her plate.
Dalia walked over to Marius, who stood with Ryzy, Czyzy, and Torus. Torus looked particularly tense.
— You were looking for me? — she asked, raising her voice over the hum of the room. Though the music seemed sweet from afar, being this close made it hard to think. Marius met her eyes, serious.
— Listen, — he said, nodding toward Ryzy, who shifted nervously.
— Prince Kalen is arriving sooner than expected. No later than two days, — Marius said.
Dalia’s brows knit in surprise.
— That’s impossible, — she said. — If he were only two days away, why didn’t he travel with us? How do you know?
— I overheard Caspar talking to one of his men, — Ryzy replied, avoiding direct eye contact. — I was tending the horses, and they were speaking in the courtyard.
— I was there too, — Czyzy added with a proud look.
Dalia shook her head.
— It doesn’t make sense, — she frowned. — Why would he do that?
Suddenly, the music stopped, and the last notes hung in the air. The musician nearby looked at them expectantly, brows raised. Startled, they clapped awkwardly. The performer took a bow and launched into another tune as the room's chatter resumed.
Torus, who had been silent until now, tilted his head, studying Marius closely. His eyes narrowed, skepticism etched on his face.
— What were Caspar and his men doing in the forest? — he asked, doubt heavy in his voice.
Marius flushed slightly, his gaze skittering away.
— I tried asking the prince, but... it wasn’t appropriate to press. He didn’t want to discuss it.
Torus let out a deep sigh, rolling his eyes in frustration.
— So, what did you talk about then?
— He was asking about us. More specifically... about you, — Marius said, looking at Dalia. A knot tightened in her stomach. — I couldn’t say much, but he seemed very interested in why you’re accompanying the princess.
— And what did you tell him? — Czyzy asked, brows furrowed with curiosity.
— That you’ve been looking after her since childhood, — Marius admitted, looking both troubled and guilty. Had he said more?
— I need to find the princess, — Dalia said, setting her plate down on a nearby table. She had been scanning the room but still saw no sign of Mariella, Lucia, or Lidia.
She stepped out of the hall and stood in the corridor, unsure where to go. There wasn’t a soul in sight to ask for directions. After a moment of thought, she decided to go left, hoping it would lead her to the main entrance.
As she walked, she caught sight of Caspar leaning heavily against a windowsill, smoking his pipe and gazing outside.
— Halt, — he said quietly. Dalia froze. At first, she wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, but they were alone in the corridor.
— My lord, — she bowed, knowing he couldn’t see it.
— Where are you going? — he asked calmly, still staring out the window, as if he had all the time in the world.
— Looking for my lady, — she said, trying to steady the slight tremor in her voice. — Do you know where I might find her?
He ignored her question.
— Why are you really here?
Caught off guard, she struggled for an answer. He took one last drag from his pipe and turned to face her. The wound on his face had been cleaned, revealing sharp features and keen, nearly navy-blue eyes. He studied her intently, though without much expression, making her feel even more unsettled.
— Your order specializes in blacksmithing? — he asked suddenly, rolling the pipe between his fingers with a hint of boredom.
— Yes... — she replied almost reflexively, feeling his gaze like a weight.
— Could you forge a weapon? Armor? — he continued, as if this conversation was nothing more than idle talk. — Jewelry? — he added, eyes flicking to hers with a glimmer of interest.
She swallowed, fighting the quiver in her voice.
— Of course, — she answered, forcing calmness.
— Can you fight? — he asked, tucking the pipe into his pocket.
— To the best of my ability, — she admitted. He seemed satisfied with her answer.
— Good. You’ll accompany me one day, — he said, as if it were a simple formality, then nodded to a hallway. — Left, down the stairs, first door.
Without another word, he turned away. Dalia followed his direction, finding herself in an inner garden filled with plants she’d never seen before. Flowers in vibrant, almost surreal hues filled the space with exotic scents. The air was sweet and slightly suffocating, lending the garden an almost magical atmosphere.
As Dalia moved through the greenery, she spotted Lucia standing motionless among the bushes, transfixed by something. Dalia followed her gaze and saw Mariella with Prince Fredryk. Mariella stood with her head bowed, holding Fredryk’s hands, which shimmered in the sunlight as if dusted with rubies. The prince seemed completely captivated by her, and she looked at him with eyes full of light, as if time had ceased to exist.
Mariella appeared blissful, but there was something unsettling in the prince’s gaze—something hidden just beneath the surface of his words and gestures.