The Fellwood was a living entity of shadow and silence. The trees, ancient and twisted, formed a canopy so thick it felt like twilight even at midday. No birds sang. The only sounds were the muffled tread of the Fae soldiers' boots, the creak of leather, and the whisper of the wind through leaves that felt like shards of obsidian. The air was cold and carried the scent of damp earth, decay, and that same wild, ancient magic that clung to Kaelen.
Elara walked, her guards a silent, imposing presence at her sides. She kept her eyes fixed on Kaelen's back, a dark silhouette moving with unerring confidence through the treacherous landscape. He never looked back to see if she followed. The assumption of her compliance was absolute.
After what felt like an hour, the forest began to change. The twisted trees gave way to a clearing, but it was unlike any she had ever seen. They hadn't built a fortress; they had grown one.
Towering spires of fused, black stone and living wood spiraled towards the sky, their forms both organic and impossibly structured. Vivid bioluminescent fungi clung to the arches and buttresses, casting a soft, eerie glow of blues and violets that pushed back the deep gloom. Silken banners, the color of midnight and embroidered with a silver crescent moon wrapped in thorns, hung motionless in the still air. This was the Shadowfell encampment. It was beautiful, in the way a spiderweb jeweled with morning dew is beautiful—deadly and precise.
As they passed through a grand archway of intertwined thorny vines that parted at their approach, they entered a vast, open courtyard. Here, Fae of all kinds stopped to stare. Their elegance was sharp, their beauty alien and intimidating. Warriors with eyes like embers and citrine assessed her with open curiosity. Courtiers clad in silks the color of wine and shadow whispered behind long-fingered hands. Their gazes were not hostile, not yet. They were analytical, dissecting the strange, pale creature their commander had brought home.
Kaelen finally stopped before the entrance to the largest structure, a great hall carved into the base of a colossal, petrified tree. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
"These are your quarters," he said, his voice cutting through the murmuring crowd. He gestured to a smaller, yet no less imposing, structure to the left of the great hall. It was woven from the roots of the great tree and walled with polished obsidian. "You will find your belongings inside. A servant has been assigned to you."
He was turning to leave when Elara found her voice. "And what are my duties to be, Commander?" The question was out before she could stop it, born of a desperate need to understand the rules of this new, terrifying game.
Kaelen paused, glancing back at her. "Your duty is to be seen. To be a symbol of this… alliance. To not cause trouble." His stormy eyes flickered over the watching courtiers. "You are a guest here, Princess. Remember that."
The way he said 'guest' made it sound like 'prisoner'.
Without another word, he strode into the great hall, the crowd parting for him like water before a ship's prow. The moment he was gone, the atmosphere shifted. The silence broke, replaced by a low hum of conversation, and the weight of a hundred Fae eyes settled upon her fully.
One of the soldiers who had escorted her gestured towards the obsidian dwelling. "This way."
Feeling more exposed than ever, Elara followed him to the doorway. The entrance was an arch of living willow, its branches trailing silvery leaves. Inside, it was both colder and more magnificent than her rooms in Aethelgard. The floor was smooth, dark stone, the furniture carved from pale, ghostly wood that seemed to glow with its own inner light. Her trunks were stacked neatly at the foot of a large bed piled with furs. A fire crackled in a hearth of black rock, but it gave off no warmth she could feel.
Standing in the center of the room was a young Fae woman. She had hair the color of moss and eyes like chips of peridot. She dipped into a graceful curtsy.
"I am Lyra, Your Highness," she said, her voice soft but clear. "I am to attend you."
Elara simply nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Lyra seemed to understand. "Would you like me to draw you a bath? The journey must have been… taxing."
The kindness in her tone, so unexpected in this place, was almost Elara's undoing. She managed another nod.
While Lyra busied herself in an adjoining chamber, the sound of water pouring into a tub, Elara walked to the room's single, narrow window. It was not made of glass, but of a solidified, transparent resin. The view was of the central courtyard, where the Fae court still mingled, their laughter now sharp and clear on the air.
She saw a group of them—a male with fiery red hair and a cruel smile, a female with skin like polished marble and eyes of liquid gold—glance towards her dwelling and laugh again. She couldn't hear their words, but she didn't need to. Their gestures were dismissive, their postures mocking. The fragile human princess, the token of a broken king, hiding in her gilded cage.
The spark of anger, the one that had answered Kaelen's jab, flared back to life. It burned away the numbness, leaving a sharp, clear resolve.
She was a symbol, Kaelen had said. Very well. She would be one.
She would not be a symbol of Liranel's surrender. She would be a symbol of its resilience. She would not hide in this room, trembling. She would learn this court, its players, its secrets. She would find her footing in the shadows.
Lyra returned. "Your bath is ready, Your Highness."
Elara turned from the window. "Thank you, Lyra." She took a deep breath, her gaze falling on the trunk that held the magnificent twilight gown. "After my bath, I need you to help me with something."
Lyra looked at her, curious. "Of course, Princess. With what?"
A small, hard smile touched Elara's lips. "With my armor."