Inside, the grand entrance hall unfolded before them - a space so different from anything in Kar-Ah that Ari felt she'd stepped into another world entirely.
The hall was vast, easily large enough to hold a hundred people comfortably, with soaring ceilings that disappeared into shadow above. The architecture was imposing, almost aggressive in its display of power. Stone walls rose on either side, punctuated by alcoves containing statues - not of gods or saints, but of warriors. Each was carved from dark stone, life-sized or larger, depicting Likaon fighters in various poses of combat or contemplation. Some bore swords, others spears, still others fought with fists alone. Their eyes seemed to follow visitors, an unsettling effect achieved through masterful carving.
Between the statues hung portraits in heavy frames - generations of warlords and their families, Ari presumed, though she recognized none of them. The faces varied from stern to savage, from contemplative to cruel, but all shared a certain intensity that suggested lives lived at the edge of violence.
Red carpets stretched across the polished stone floor like rivers of blood, muffling footsteps and adding the only warmth to an otherwise cold space. The flickering glow of standing torches and candle sconces bathed the hall in warm, golden light that should have been welcoming but somehow only emphasized the shadows. The contrast created a dramatic effect - light and dark constantly at war, neither quite winning.
The atmosphere was both regal and steeped in military history. This wasn't a palace built for comfort or aesthetic beauty, but a fortress retrofitted for rulership. Its grandeur hinted at the power and legacy housed within these walls, but it was the grandeur of conquest rather than culture, of domination rather than art.
"The Citadel was originally built as a military stronghold during the Tundra Wars," Iselda explained, perhaps sensing Ari's assessment of the space. Her voice carried the practiced cadence of someone who'd given this explanation before, to other visitors who'd needed context. "My great-grandfather converted it into a seat of governance, but we've maintained its... martial character. Some traditions shouldn't be softened."
As they followed Mariselle through the halls - each corridor revealing new evidence of the Citadel's dual nature as fortress and residence - the sound of their footsteps echoed softly off stone walls. Servants moved through the passages like ghosts, pressing themselves against walls to allow them passage, bowing without making eye contact. The discipline was impressive and slightly unsettling.
Ari broke the silence, her voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity and concern that she couldn't quite suppress. "So, going back to my question... I won't meet Kreaton today?"
Iselda let out a heavy sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson - embarrassment mixed with frustration and what looked like genuine anger, though not directed at Ari. "Such a shame," she murmured, and her tone suggested those words were massive understatement.
Then, in a gesture that shocked Ari more than almost anything else that day, Iselda stopped walking and turned to face her fully. She bowed deeply - not the polite inclination of earlier greeting, but a genuine bow of apology, the kind that put her at a disadvantage and acknowledged wrongdoing. "My deepest apologies. Kreaton is not in Valkrath today."
Ari blinked in surprise at the unexpected declaration, her instincts urging her to return the courtesy. She bowed as well, though confusion dominated her expression. "I see. He must have left for something important, then." She heard the words come out of her mouth and realized she was making excuses for him, softening the blow before she even knew its full weight.
"Well... about that..." Iselda hesitated, her words trailing off as she exchanged a glance with Mariselle. Some silent communication passed between them - a conversation conducted entirely in subtle gestures and micro-expressions that spoke of long familiarity.
"How shall we proceed, Miss?" Mariselle inquired smoothly, her voice professionally neutral but her question loaded with implications. She was asking permission to deviate from whatever plan had been established, Ari realized, and the fact that such permission was needed suggested the situation was worse than a simple absence.
Iselda straightened and clasped her hands together, her expression brightening with forced cheer - the kind of determined optimism that people adopted when facing uncomfortable situations. "Right! I've been thinking about your stay here and came up with a plan." She spoke quickly, words tumbling over each other as if speed could somehow make them more acceptable. "Since you've endured several days on the open sea - evident in more ways than one - " Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Ari's windblown hair and salt-stained dress. " - and your noble guards are clearly disciplined, focused, and as vigilant as any of ours, I think they deserve a proper meal to experience our local delicacies in the kitchen."
It was a diplomatic offer, carefully phrased to honor the guards while separating them from Ari. The kind of maneuver that someone trained in court politics would recognize immediately.
Frost's voice cut through the suggestion like ice through water, hard and uncompromising. "We won't leave the Princess's side. Not for a moment." The steel in his tone was unfamiliar to Ari - or rather, she'd heard it directed at others but never deployed in her defense quite so absolutely. His blue eyes had gone cold, and his hand rested on his sword hilt in a gesture that stopped just short of threatening. She turned to meet his gaze and found something fierce there, protective in a way that made her throat tighten.
"You will," Iselda replied matter-of-factly, her composure unwavering despite facing down an armed guard who clearly distrusted the situation. Her voice remained pleasant but carried bedrock certainty beneath it. "Because in the meantime, we three will enjoy a bath."
Frost's eyes darted to Ari for confirmation - not permission, exactly, but acknowledgment. She could see him calculating, weighing the impropriety of accompanying women to a bathhouse against the danger of leaving her unguarded in a foreign fortress where her future husband had apparently decided she wasn't worth meeting.
"I could use a bath," Ari admitted, her tone gentle yet carrying a note of persuasion that was becoming easier with practice. She met Frost's gaze and tried to project confidence she didn't entirely feel. "And you haven't eaten in a while. Both of you look ready to collapse." She gestured at Samuel, who was indeed swaying slightly. "This is the Citadel - the seat of power for the entire Likaon Coast. They can't afford security breaches. You can trust that here, at least. Eat and rest a little. You'll join me later."
The logic was sound, and they all knew it. Samuel's cheeks flushed at the implication of the bath - the young man's imagination clearly filling in details he shouldn't be considering - while Frost released a resigned sigh that acknowledged defeat without quite accepting it. "Fine then," he muttered, though his reluctance was palpable, written in every line of his rigid posture. "But we're not far. If anything - and I mean anything - seems wrong, you shout. We'll hear you."
Mariselle summoned another maid with a subtle gesture - the kind of economical movement that suggested years of managing staff and situations with minimum fuss. A young woman appeared almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting nearby for this precise moment. Mariselle instructed her in a low voice to escort the guards to the kitchen, where they could savor the local cuisine and drinks.
As Frost and Samuel reluctantly departed, Frost turned back once more, holding Ari's gaze for a long moment. She nodded minutely, acknowledging his concern and promising without words to be careful. Only then did he follow the younger maid down a corridor that branched away from where Mariselle was leading Ari and Iselda.
Ari found herself following her hosts toward the bathhouse, each step taking her deeper into the Citadel's interior, further from her guards, closer to a vulnerability she was trying very hard not to think about.
They navigated through more corridors - these ones slightly less austere, showing signs of actual habitation rather than just military function. Tapestries softened stone walls, depicting hunting scenes and starlit gatherings rather than battles. The torches here were augmented by windows that let in natural light, making the spaces feel less oppressive.
Finally, they reached the bathhouse entrance - a carved wooden door decorated with flowing water patterns. Mariselle opened it, revealing a warm, inviting changing room that felt like stepping into another world entirely.
The space was lined with polished wooden panels that gleamed with careful maintenance, their grain creating natural patterns that were almost hypnotic. Fluffy carpets in deep blues and greens cushioned their steps, so thick that Ari's feet sank slightly with each step - a luxury she hadn't expected in a military fortress. Mirrors reflected their forms from every angle, creating an almost dizzying effect of infinite repetition. The lighting was soft and warm, provided by candles in frosted glass holders that diffused the glow into something gentle.
The three women began undressing, the activity made less awkward by the matter-of-fact efficiency with which both Iselda and Mariselle approached it. This was clearly routine for them, nothing to be shy about. They left their clothes neatly folded in woven baskets that lined one wall, each basket marked with a different symbol.
For a moment, Ari and Iselda lingered in front of the mirrors, examining themselves with the kind of critical assessment that young women often apply to their own reflections. Ari found herself comparing her body to Iselda's - the Likaon girl was shorter but more muscular, her frame suggesting active training rather than just noble life. Iselda's wolf-like features were striking: her ears larger and more prominent than Ari's fox ears, her tail bushier, her overall build more powerful.
Mariselle handed each of them a towel as they approached the next chamber - soft, thick fabric that spoke of quality. Ari accepted hers with a nod of thanks and followed Iselda through another door.
She stepped forward and gasped softly at the sight before her.
The bathhouse was magnificent - easily the most impressive thing she'd seen in the Citadel so far, perhaps the most impressive bathhouse she'd ever encountered. Its floors and walls were lined with gleaming white ceramic tiles that seemed to glow in the steam-diffused light. The tiles were interrupted at elegant intervals by marble statues - classical figures of Likaon warriors and maidens, each holding ornate pots from which water trickled continuously in gentle streams. The sound was soothing, a constant background murmur like rain on leaves.
Hot steam filled the air, thick enough to obscure the ceiling, swirling in complex patterns above a large, inviting pool of water that dominated the center of the room. The pool was easily large enough for a dozen people, its water a perfect clear blue that suggested both cleanliness and depth. Around it, smaller washing stations had been set up - low stools beside basins, with sponges and soaps arranged in neat rows.
The air was heavy with humidity and the faint scent of herbs - something like lavender but not quite, mixed with eucalyptus and mint. It was intoxicating, making Ari want to simply sink into the warmth and forget about everything waiting beyond these walls.
They began by washing themselves thoroughly at the stations, sitting on the small stools with sponges in hand. The task was almost meditative - repetitive, soothing, the kind of simple physical activity that allowed the mind to wander while the body worked.
Ari and Iselda worked on their delicate skin and fur with practiced efficiency. For Ari, this meant paying particular attention to her fox ears and tail, ensuring the fur was clean without being overworked. It was a balance she'd learned young: too little washing and the fur became matted and unpleasant; too much and it lost its natural oils and texture.
Mariselle assisted Iselda first, scrubbing her back with practiced ease that spoke of long familiarity with this routine. Her hands moved efficiently across Iselda's shoulders and spine, working out knots that had formed from tension or exertion.
Once finished with Iselda, the head maid turned her attention to Ari, who stiffened slightly at the unexpected help. She wasn't used to being tended to so intimately by strangers - at home, either Mia helped her or she managed herself. But Iselda seemed to take it as completely normal, so Ari tried to relax.
Unused to communal bathing outside her family, Ari hesitated initially but soon allowed Mariselle to assist. The maid's touch was professional, neither too familiar nor too distant, and Ari found herself gradually relaxing into the rhythm of her careful ministrations.
However, when Mariselle reached for her tail, intending to help wash it, a ripple of sensitivity coursed through Ari's body that she wasn't prepared for. The tail was one of the most sensitive parts of a kitsune's anatomy - not painful to touch, but intensely aware. Every nerve seemed to fire at once, sending signals that were somewhere between ticklish and overwhelming.
She instinctively grabbed her tail, cradling it protectively against her chest, her cheeks flushing from more than just the heat of the bath. "I - I'll do that part myself, thank you," she stammered, suddenly very aware of her nakedness and vulnerability in a way she hadn't been moments before.
Mariselle, perceptive and respectful, offered an understanding smile that suggested she'd encountered this before - perhaps all kitsune were sensitive about their tails, or perhaps noble guests often had boundaries that needed respect. She stepped back without comment or judgment, giving Ari space.
With a quiet sigh that was equal parts relief and embarrassment, Ari began to groom her tail herself. The steam enveloped her as she worked, her fingers running through the soft fur with the care developed over a lifetime. Her movements were slow and deliberate, almost ritualistic.
The warmth of the water and humid air soothed her muscles, unknotting tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying. Despite her initial unease, she found herself actually enjoying the moment - the simple pleasure of being clean, the meditative quality of grooming her most distinctive feature, the absence of immediate pressure or decision-making.
For just these few minutes, she could exist without being Arianna Rosviel, political pawn and sacrificial bride. She could just be a girl taking a bath, grooming her tail, breathing steam, and letting warmth seep into bones that had been cold with fear for days.
After Iselda and Ari finished their washing, Mariselle - still immersed in her own cleaning at a nearby station - found herself receiving unexpected assistance. Both younger women converged on her, giggling as they offered to help scrub her back in turn.
"Young ladies, this really isn't necessary," Mariselle protested, but her voice carried more amusement than genuine objection.
"Nonsense," Iselda declared, already reaching for a sponge. "You help everyone else all day. Let someone help you for once."
Laughter filled the air as they worked together, sharing light-hearted moments that eased the atmosphere considerably. The role reversal was somehow liberating - servant being served, noble doing the serving, all barriers temporarily dissolved in warm water and soap bubbles.
Once all three of them were thoroughly cleaned, they finally sank into the main pool. The hot water enveloped them like an embrace, almost too hot for a moment before becoming perfect. With towels draped over their heads to absorb excess moisture and prevent overheating, they leaned back against the pool's edge, breathing deeply, letting the steam soothe tired muscles and quieter the constant chatter of anxious thoughts.
For a long moment, nobody spoke. The silence was comfortable, meditative, broken only by the trickling water from the statues and their own breathing.
Then Iselda broke it with a heavy sigh that seemed to come from her soul.
"I truly think it's a shame, Ari," she said, her voice carrying genuine distress. "My brother... He's a pain in my neck." She turned to look at Ari directly, and the sad expression on her face was so honest it hurt to witness. "Someday, he's going to drive me completely insane. I'll probably end up challenging him to single combat just to relieve the stress."
She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts - or perhaps her courage. "He's not occupied with anything important. Nothing that couldn't wait, nothing that actually required his presence." Her hands clenched beneath the water. "I told him he needed to be here. I told him you were coming. I made him promise to wait, made him understand how important this was. But yesterday, out of nowhere - " Her voice took on a tone that suggested she still couldn't quite believe it. " - he decided to go hunting. Just... decided. Gathered his crew, grabbed his weapons, and left. Hunting and partying, probably drinking and fighting and gods know what else. Before I could stop him, before I could remind him of his obligations, he was already gone."
She met Ari's eyes with an expression that begged for understanding, for forgiveness that wasn't hers to grant. "I'm so sorry, Ari. So, so sorry."
The words hung in the steam-thick air. Ari absorbed them, processed them, felt them settle into the growing collection of evidence about what kind of man she was being given to.
He hadn't even stayed to meet her.
She'd traveled for days across hostile seas. She'd left her family, perhaps forever. She'd accepted this arranged marriage for the good of her people, had reconciled herself to duty over desire. And he'd gone hunting.
She should have been furious. Should have been insulted. Should have stood up, demanded to be taken back to the ship, declared this entire arrangement void.
Instead, she found herself shaking her head gently, surprising herself with the calmness in her voice. "Don't apologize to me. That wasn't your fault."
And it truly wasn't. Iselda hadn't chosen to have an irresponsible brother any more than Ari had chosen to be married to him.
Iselda let out a soft laugh, but it lacked humor - it was the kind of laugh that prevented crying. "I feel like it is, though. He's technically a warlord, supposedly leading our people, but I end up doing most of his actual work. Managing the territory, handling disputes, conducting diplomacy, managing resources..." She listed the tasks on her fingers beneath the water. "I feel responsible for his failures because I'm always cleaning up after them."
"Was he always like that?" Ari asked, genuinely curious now. Understanding the man she was being bound to suddenly seemed more important than judging him.
Iselda submerged herself deeper into the water, letting it reach up to her chin "You mean irresponsible, impulsive, volatile, childish despite his years?" She sighed, creating ripples. "I wish I could say no. I wish I could tell you there was a time when he was different, that something changed him. But... I don't remember a time when he wasn't like that."
She tilted her head back, the water lapping at her neck, steam condensing on her face like tears. "He was always a gifted child - strong, fast, naturally talented with weapons and tactics. Father was blinded by his potential, saw only the warrior he could become rather than the man he was becoming. And Mother..." She trailed off, something pained crossing her features. "Mother never had control over him. He was always his father's son, following father's path, learning father's lessons. The gentle things, the civilized things - he had no time for those."
She came up from the water more fully, wiping her eyes and pointed ears with her towel before turning to Ari with an expression that was heartbreaking in its fragile hope. "Still, I believe that together, we can help him become better, don't you? Two women working together have accomplished harder things. Maybe you'll be the influence he needs. Maybe marriage will settle him. Maybe..." She trailed off, the hope fading even as she spoke it.
Ari smiled softly, but her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of her future husband - this man who couldn't even be bothered to meet her, who went hunting instead of greeting his bride, who apparently required two women to manage his life and temperament.
None of them were ever heard from again.
The captain's words echoed once more, taking on new and terrible significance.
She turned her attention to Mariselle, who had been silent throughout this exchange, her eyes closed as she soaked. "And you?" Ari asked, her voice gentle but probing. "What do you think about him? You serve him directly - you must have insights we don't."
Mariselle's eyes remained closed for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, carefully neutral in a way that spoke volumes through its very carefulness. "I'd rather not answer such questions. He's my master, and I'm his maid, after all. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to offer personal opinions about his character or behavior."
The diplomatic non-answer was itself an answer. Ari didn't push the matter further, but she couldn't help noticing the faint blush that colored Mariselle's cheeks despite her closed eyes and neutral tone. It suggested complicated feelings - loyalty mixed with frustration, perhaps, or duty warring with disapproval.
"So it must be really hard to be his sister," Ari said, her thoughts turning this new information over and over, trying to build a complete picture from fragments. "There were only you two who could control him - you and your mother."
Iselda tilted her head to the side as she processed what Ari had said, a slight furrow appearing between her brows.
"Three of us, actually," she corrected with a soft, sad smile. "Besides me and Mother, there's also our younger sister, Liriel. She's the baby of the family - barely nine years old. Mother and I dote on her, and she brightens our days immeasurably. But to Kreaton? She's nothing. Less than nothing. He walks past her as if she were a piece of furniture. Even when she was small and would try to get his attention - bringing him drawings, asking him questions - he would brush her off without a word. Eventually she stopped trying."
Her expression grew slightly sheepish. "She was so eager to meet you - wouldn't stop talking about it for days. But when I went to welcome you at the gates, I somehow lost track of her. She probably got distracted by something shiny or ran off to play with the guards' children."
Ari's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't known Kreaton had a second sister.
"I'm sure you'll meet her today," Iselda continued, her expression brightening at the thought. "She really wanted to meet her future sister-in-law. She's been planning questions to ask you and drawing pictures of what she thinks your wedding will look like. It's adorable."
Ari returned the smile and nodded in agreement, though something twisted in her chest at the thought of this innocent child excited about a wedding that might be a death sentence.
Soon after, the comfortable haze of the bath had to end. All good things did. The three of them reluctantly left the pool, dried off with thick towels, and dressed in clean clothes that had been laid out for them.
As they exited the bathhouse, Ari glanced around the corridor, searching for Frost and Samuel, but neither could be seen. She felt their absence like a physical thing - not fear, exactly, but awareness of vulnerability.
"They should be on their way by now," Mariselle suggested, taking the lead once more with her usual efficiency. "It's probably best if we meet them in the conference room. That's where we'll be conducting the actual business anyway."
Ari agreed, and with Iselda beside her, they proceeded toward the conference room. As they passed through the Citadel's hallways and climbed the stairs to the third floor, Ari's thoughts lingered on what she had learned about Kreaton from both his sister and the circumspect silence of his maid.
Though the picture of him was becoming more nuanced - not the simple monster the captain had implied - the overall portrait remained troubling. Irresponsible. Impulsive. Violent. Gifted but undisciplined. Powerful but unreliable.
And somewhere underneath all of that, perhaps something capable of growth? Iselda seemed to believe so, seemed to hope that Ari's influence might help. But hoping someone would change and actually changing them were two entirely different things.
The captain's stern warning about Kreaton aboard the ship still weighed heavily on her mind, made heavier now by his absence. The first impression she'd expected to make had been denied entirely. He'd chosen hunting over meeting her - what did that say about how he valued this arrangement? About how he valued her?
"Is something wrong?" Iselda suddenly asked, stopping mid-step and looking at Ari closely. Her amber eyes were sharp, missing nothing despite her earlier levity.
"What?" Ari answered, startled from her spiraling thoughts. Disoriented, she quickly shook her head, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "No, it's nothing."
Before Iselda could press further, a peal of joyous laughter broke the tension like shattering glass - high-pitched, delighted, utterly guileless.
"Young lady," Mariselle said with a raised brow, glancing ahead down the corridor. Her tone carried equal parts exasperation and affection.
Ari and Iselda turned their gaze forward to see a young girl at the end of the hallway. She couldn't have been more than nine, dressed in a charming little gown of pale yellow that had clearly been made for someone who played hard - it was already slightly rumpled, one ribbon coming undone. She clutched a teddy bear that looked well-loved, one ear hanging by threads, its button eyes slightly askew.
The girl's eyes locked onto Ari, and her face transformed with pure joy. She ran toward them with the heedless speed of childhood, her small feet slapping against the stone floor, the teddy bear bouncing wildly.
"Liriel, you should first greet - " Iselda began, her voice carrying the warning tone of older siblings everywhere, but her words were cut short as Liriel leapt into Ari's arms with complete faith that she would be caught.
Ari welcomed her instinctively, catching the small body and embracing the energetic girl despite her surprise. Liriel was warm and solid and smelled faintly of honey cakes and grass - evidence of outdoor play. Her wolf ears were soft against Ari's cheek, and her tail wagged with such vigor it created a breeze.
However, it wasn't long before Liriel's weight became a challenge - the child was small but dense with the compact strength of the young. Ari gently set her back down, laughing despite herself at the sheer enthusiasm of the greeting.
"Ari! Ari! You're Ari, right?" Liriel exclaimed, her wide eyes sparkling with excitement as she held onto Ari's hands with a grip that suggested she might never let go. Her voice was pitched high with barely contained joy. "You're even prettier than Iselda said! And you smell nice! Like flowers! Are you really going to marry my brother? Are you going to live here? Can we play together? Do you like dolls? I have seven dolls and - "
"It's Arianna Rosviel, Liriel," Iselda interjected with a sigh that carried the weight of having had this conversation before. "Lady Arianna. You should greet her properly before jumping on her like an overexcited puppy."
Despite the scolding, Liriel giggled and beamed up at Ari, entirely unbothered by her sister's disapproval. Her tail continued wagging, and her ears perked forward with attention that suggested Ari was the most fascinating thing she'd ever encountered.
"You shouldn't welcome visitors like this," Mariselle chimed in, joining Iselda's lecture with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd given this correction many times. "It's unseemly for a lady of your station."
"You're both wrong!" Liriel declared with the absolute certainty of childhood, puffing out her chest in a gesture clearly copied from watching adults make important pronouncements. "She's my sister too, so I can hug her and call her by name! Sisters don't need formality!"
Ari chuckled softly, charmed despite the complicated emotions swirling through her. She nodded, deciding to validate the child's logic rather than insist on protocol that suddenly seemed less important. "Well, not yet, but we will be sisters soon." She crouched slightly to be more at eye level with the small girl. "So you must be the Liriel I've heard so much about."
Liriel's eyes sparkled even brighter, if such a thing were possible. "What did big brother say about me?" she asked eagerly, bouncing on her toes with anticipation of praise.
Ari's expression dimmed briefly as the realization hit her again - she hadn't actually met Kreaton yet. The absence felt more pointed with his youngest sister standing before her, but she quickly recovered, not wanting to disappoint the child. "Not your brother, but your sister and Mariselle have told me about you. How clever and adorable you are. How you can make anyone smile. How you're the sunshine of the Citadel."
The words were true based on what she'd learned, and Liriel's reaction suggested they were accurate. As Ari gently patted Liriel's head, stroking the soft fur between her ears, the girl's ears and tail swayed back and forth with such vigor she nearly lost her balance. Pure, uncomplicated happiness radiated from her.
"Alright, alright." Iselda swooped in with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd managed an energetic younger sibling for years, lifting Liriel despite her squirming protests. "You need to go play somewhere else for now. The adults have important business to discuss."
"No! No! No!" Liriel protested, squirming in her sister's grasp like a fish trying to return to water. "I want to play now! With Ari! You promised I could meet her!"
"You have met her," Iselda pointed out with impeccable logic that had no chance of working on a seven-year-old. "But you can't stay with us right now. You'll have to wait until we're done with our boring adult conversations about boring adult things."
Liriel quieted down but remained sulky, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that was clearly calculated for maximum effect. It almost worked - even Mariselle's expression softened slightly.
Iselda, recognizing dangerous ground, quickly added: "After we're finished with the conference, you can play with Ari - if she agrees and if she's not too tired."
Liriel's mood shifted in an instant, like sun breaking through clouds. She twisted in her sister's grip to gaze intently at Ari, her eyes brimming with hope so pure it was almost painful to witness. "Will we play later? Please? I'll show you my dolls and my drawings and the secret place in the garden where butterflies come!"
Ari found herself smiling warmly, genuinely, for perhaps the first time since arriving at the Citadel. "Yes, we will. I'd love to see your dolls and drawings."
At that promise, Liriel squealed with joy - a sound so high-pitched it nearly hurt - bouncing in her sister's arms before being set down. She darted off down the hall with renewed energy, the teddy bear clutched to her chest, already planning their afternoon together in whatever elaborate scenarios children constructed.
"What a girl," Mariselle murmured, shaking her head with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and deep affection. "She'll talk your ear off for hours if you let her."
"I'm so sorry about her behavior," Iselda said, bowing apologetically to Ari. "She gets overexcited about new people, especially family. She's been an only child for so long - relatively speaking - that the idea of having another sister is..."
"There's no need for that," Ari assured, waving her hand dismissively. The gesture felt natural now, comfortable. "I don't mind her behavior at all - it was adorable. Refreshing, honestly." After days of political calculation and diplomatic maneuvering, Liriel's straightforward enthusiasm was like clean water after drinking from muddy streams.
"I'm glad to hear it." Iselda smiled with visible relief and gestured ahead down the corridor. "Shall we continue then? The conference room is just ahead, and hopefully your guards will have arrived by now."
All three continued their walk, their footsteps echoing softly in the stone corridor. The Citadel felt slightly less oppressive now, slightly less like a prison - perhaps because Ari had met the people who lived here and found them human rather than monstrous.
When they arrived at the conference room, Mariselle opened the grand double doors with a practiced motion that suggested she'd done this thousands of times. The doors swung inward silently, revealing a room with an atmosphere of solemn authority that made Ari's breath catch slightly.
The main section was spacious yet dimly lit, as if the room itself preferred shadows to illumination. Heavy drapes covered tall windows, allowing only slivers of natural light to filter through in thin, blade-like shafts. The air smelled of old wood and older paper, of decisions made and consequences lived with.
The centerpiece was a long, imposing table made of dark, polished wood - the kind that had probably witnessed treaties and death sentences in equal measure. It could easily seat twenty people, though currently it stood empty, chairs pushed in with military precision. The chairs themselves were high-backed leather, gleaming faintly in the muted light, each one a throne of sorts.
The walls were clad in wood panels, their rich mahogany tones giving the room a stately and almost somber feel - this was a place where serious matters were discussed, where levity would feel like sacrilege. At the back stood tall bookshelves filled with thick tomes bound in leather and marked with titles Ari couldn't read from this distance. Interspersed with the books were glass cabinets displaying ornate artifacts - weapons, mostly, but also crowns, jewelry, and objects whose purpose wasn't immediately clear.
Two marble statues flanked the entrance, classical figures of Likaon warriors in full battle regalia, their features illuminated by warm golden light from the chandelier above. The chandelier itself was magnificent - wrought iron worked into shapes of wolves and moons, holding dozens of candles that cast a subdued glow rather than dazzling brilliance. The effect was deliberately muted, as if even the light understood it was merely tolerated here.
Iselda passed Ari, who had stopped just inside the door, her gaze lingering on the intricately carved moldings that adorned the room's ceiling. The patterns were geometric rather than floral - angular, aggressive, suggesting the architecture of fortification rather than decoration.
"Follow me; we'll talk in the adjoining section," Iselda said, her voice echoing slightly in the large space before she disappeared around a corner to the right.
Mariselle waited patiently behind Ari, who seemed momentarily absorbed in the room's grandeur - or perhaps intimidated by it, though she hid it well. Once Ari had taken in enough details to satisfy her curiosity (or steel her nerves), she followed Iselda into the second section.
This smaller room exuded an even more intimate and personal atmosphere, like stepping from a throne room into a private study. The transition was jarring - from public power to private work.
The walls were lined with more bookshelves, but here they were interrupted by framed paintings of past figures - ancestors, presumably, their stern visages watching over the room with judgment or approval, impossible to tell which. Some looked noble, others ruthless, still others simply tired. Generations of warlords who'd sat in this very room, making decisions that rippled through history.
A large, ornately carved desk with golden accents dominated the space, paired with a plush leather chair that commanded respect through sheer presence. The desk's surface was cluttered with papers, inkwells, sealing wax, and other tools of governance - evidence that Iselda had been truthful about doing most of her brother's work.
In front of the desk was a low, circular tea table made of the same dark wood as the conference table, flanked by two deep, cushioned sofas in muted green tones that looked comfortable enough to sleep on. The lighting was soft and warm, provided by a standing brass lamp with an opalescent glass shade that created gentle patterns on the walls, and a smaller crystal chandelier overhead that seemed more decorative than functional.
The faint scent of old paper and polished wood lingered in the air, adding to the room's timeless elegance. This was where real work happened, where decisions were actually made rather than merely announced.
Iselda pulled an additional chair from a corner - it scraped slightly against the floor, breaking the room's spell of stillness - and placed it opposite her desk for Ari. She collapsed into her own chair with a theatrical sigh that suggested exhaustion had been accumulating all day.
"Too much walking," she groaned, her tone both playful and genuinely weary. Then, as if suddenly remembering they had actual business to conduct, she straightened slightly and added with forced brightness: "Shall we get this over with?"
Ari instinctively reached for her bag, expecting to retrieve the documents they needed - the papers that would formalize her future, seal her fate, make everything official and inescapable. But her hand met empty air.
Her stomach dropped.
"I forgot," Ari muttered, genuine distress coloring her voice. How could she have been so careless? "I gave my bag to Frost before we went to the bathhouse. All the papers are in there - the contracts, the letters of introduction, everything."
Iselda stretched out in her chair, her joints popping audibly, then stood up reluctantly with another groan. "Well, let's go find them, then. They can't have gotten far. The Citadel's large, but it's not a maze."
"Shouldn't they already be here?" Ari asked, rising to her feet, concern creeping into her voice. "They were supposed to meet us after eating. How long were we in the bath?"
"They should be," Iselda replied, frowning slightly - the first sign of genuine worry Ari had seen from her. "I don't know what's taking them so long. The kitchen isn't that far, and the meal should have been finished by now."
A cold feeling began creeping up Ari's spine - the kind of intuition that whispered something was wrong before conscious thought caught up.
When they returned to the main section of the conference room, Mariselle was no longer present, as per Iselda's earlier instruction to leave them alone for their discussion. The hallway outside was eerily quiet - too quiet, lacking the ambient sounds of a functioning fortress.
"That's odd," Iselda murmured, stepping into the corridor and glancing both ways. "Usually there are servants about, guards passing through. Where is everyone?"
As they began walking back toward where they'd left Frost and Samuel, intending to track them down, Ari suddenly stopped. She clutched her chest as a strange, sharp pain radiated through her heart - not metaphorical but physical, real, terrifying.
A wave of heat surged over her, making her entire body tense. It felt like fire spreading through her veins, like every nerve was suddenly screaming. The sensation was so intense, so unexpected, that for a moment she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but experience it.
"Ari?" Iselda called out, concern evident in her voice as she turned back. "Ari, what's wrong?"
Before Ari could respond, sharp pain shot through her chest. Her body locked - muscles frozen, lungs stopped mid-breath.
The floor shuddered violently, not slowly but all at once, spiderwebs of fractures spreading in impossible patterns. The ceiling above did the same, geometry breaking down, straight lines becoming curves, solid stone becoming something fluid and wrong.
Then everything started crumbling in slow motion.
The long conference table split down its center, both halves tipping toward the walls. Chairs toppled. The marble statues rocked on their pedestals. Books cascaded from shelves in avalanches of leather and paper. The chandelier plummeted, candles still burning as it disappeared.
"Ari!" Iselda's voice seemed to come from very far away, stretched and distorted like sound traveling through water.
Ari tried to respond, tried to reach out, but her body wouldn't obey. She was frozen, paralyzed, able only to watch as the world unmade itself around her.
A searing flash of light engulfed her vision, blinding her completely. It was white - pure, absolute white that erased everything else, that existed beyond color into something that hurt to perceive.
Behind the white, she thought she glimpsed something else. Shadows? Figures? A face?
None of them were ever heard from again.
The captain's words, one final time.
And then, nothing.
(Author note: This is my last previously written chapter. Every new one from now on will be written from scratch, so production time will be longer. I won't be posting a chapter every day, but it will always be published at the same hour. Thank you for understanding.)