The obsidian floor was a cold, unyielding prison beneath Elara's knees. The silence after Kaelen's pronouncement was heavier than any noise, broken only by the low, steady hmmmm of the castle's heart and the frantic, rabbit-quick rhythm of her own pulse in her ears. Guest. The word echoed, a beautiful lie wrapped in a gilded cage.
He had turned his back to her, a dismissal as absolute as it was casual, and began to ascend the dais to his throne. Each step was silent, a predator's grace that was more unnerving than any stomp of authority. He was leaving her there. On the floor. Lost.
A surge of sheer, human panic cut through her daze. The instinct to not be left alone in this terrifying place overrode her paralyzing fear.
"W-wait!" The word scraped out of her throat, too loud in the vast hall.
Kaelen paused, one foot on the dais. He didn't turn, but the air thrummed with his attention shifting back to her. It was like feeling a searchlight swing her way.
"Please," she added, her voice smaller now. "I... I don't... what do I do?"
Slowly, he turned. His amber eyes glowed in the dim light, pinning her in place. He looked genuinely perplexed, as if she'd asked him to explain the color of the sky to a creature born blind.
"You do?" he repeated, the word a low rumble. "You breathe. You exist. You will remain within these walls until I decide otherwise. Is the concept of existence so difficult for your kind?"
A spark of defiance, tiny but fierce, flickered in her chest. It was buried under mountains of fear, but it was there. She was a person, not a petulant child.
"I mean where do I go? Where do I sleep? Is there... water?" The questions felt absurdly mundane, a desperate clutch at the normalcy of basic needs.
Understanding, followed by a flicker of profound annoyance, crossed his features. He let out a short, sharp sigh that was almost a huff. "Ah. The mortal needs. How tedious."
He didn't move, didn't call for a servant. He simply lifted his chin a fraction and spoke, not to her, but to the air itself. His voice didn't need to rise; it seemed to weave into the very fabric of the castle.
"Lyra."
The name hung in the air for a moment, a single, clear note. From a shadowed archway to the left, a figure emerged. She was tall and slender, dressed in a simple grey gown that flowed like smoke. Her ears were elegantly pointed, and her skin had a slight silvery sheen. Her eyes, a calm and steady grey, took in the scene—the fearsome king on the dais, the trembling human girl on the floor—without a hint of surprise. She moved with a silent, graceful efficiency.
She bowed deeply to Kaelen. "My King."
"See to it," he said, his gesture towards Elara vague, as if he were pointing out a piece of furniture that needed dusting. "The creature leaks. Ensure it is... contained."
With that, he turned fully and sank onto his throne, the obsidian seeming to embrace him. He was already dismissing them, his gaze turning inward, back to whatever ancient thoughts preoccupied a being like him.
The woman—Lyra—turned to Elara. Her expression wasn't kind, but it wasn't cruel either. It was practical. Assessing. She walked forward, her soft-slippered feet making no sound. She stopped before Elara and extended a hand. It was a simple, human gesture that felt alien here.
"Come," Lyra said, her voice softer than Kaelen's, but still laced with an unshakeable authority. "You are cold, and the stone does not forgive."
Hesitantly, Elara placed her trembling hand in Lyra's. The woman's grip was firm and cool. She helped her stand, Elara's legs wobbling unsteadily. As she rose, a wave of dizziness washed over her, the world tilting on its axis. She stumbled, and Lyra's grip tightened, holding her upright with surprising strength.
"Easy, little one," Lyra murmured, a note of something almost like pity in her tone. "The first crossing is always the hardest."
Lyra led her away from the throne room, not back through the archway the wolf-guards had used, but through a different, smaller passageway hidden in the tapestry of shadows. The moment they left the great hall, the oppressive weight of Kaelen's presence lessened, though the deep hmmmm of the castle was still a constant vibration through the soles of her shoes.
The corridors were narrower here, but no less magnificent. The walls were still dark stone, but the glowing moonstone veins were more numerous, providing a soft, ethereal light. They passed doorways that led into rooms shrouded in darkness, and others that glowed with warm firelight. The air smelled different here—less of ozone and power, more of old stone, dried herbs, and something faintly floral.
Finally, Lyra stopped before a heavy wooden door carved with swirling patterns that mimicked the moonstone veins. She pushed it open with a soft creeeak.
The room within was… not what Elara expected. It was small, by the castle's standards, but beautifully appointed. A large bed with a thick mattress and silvery blankets dominated one wall. A fire crackled merrily in a hearth of dark stone, its warm pop-hiss-pop a comforting, familiar sound that made Elara's chest ache with homesickness. There was a small table, a chair, and a window that looked out into a night sky filled with two large, luminous moons she had never seen before.
"These will be your chambers," Lyra stated. She walked to a basin carved into the wall and placed her hand under a spout. A moment later, clear water gurgled and then began to pour forth. "Water. For drinking and washing."
Elara could only stare, her mind struggling to catch up. One moment she was facing a god-king, the next she was in a cozy room with running water.
"Who are you?" Elara finally asked, her voice hoarse.
"I am Lyra. I serve the King," she said, as if that explained everything. She turned to study Elara more closely, her grey eyes missing nothing—the tear-stains on her cheeks, the scrapes on her palms, the way she shivered in her thin Earthly sweater. "And you are the mystery."
"He called me a guest," Elara whispered.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Lyra's lips. "The King's words are law. If he calls you a guest, then a guest you are. It is a favorable title. Be grateful it was not 'intruder' or 'spy.' The outcomes for those are... swift."
The unspoken meaning hung in the air, making Elara hug herself tighter.
Lyra moved to a wardrobe and opened it, pulling out a simple, long gown of soft grey wool. "You will wear this. Your... garments... are strange." She placed the gown on the bed. "I will return with food. Do not leave this room."
The command was gentle but absolute. As Lyra turned to leave, Elara found one more question.
"What does he want with me?"
Lyra paused at the door, her hand on the frame. She looked back, and for the first time, Elara saw a flicker of genuine emotion in her eyes: not pity, but deep, ancient curiosity.
"None of us know what the King wants," she said softly. "Least of all, I suspect, the King himself. You confuse him. And in a being that old and powerful, confusion is a most dangerous and fascinating thing. Rest now, Human Queen."
With that final, startling title hanging in the air, Lyra slipped out, the door closing with a soft but definitive thud.
The lock didn't click. But Elara knew, with every fiber of her being, that the walls of this beautiful, comfortable room were just as impenetrable as the obsidian throne room. She was alone, trapped between a crackling fire and a sky with two moons, a puzzle piece violently ripped from her own picture and forced into one where she didn't fit.
And somewhere in this humming, living castle, a king who had never been confused before was now puzzling over the fragile, leaking creature he had decided to keep.