The silence in the room was a living thing. It pressed in on Elara, broken only by the cheerful pop-hiss of the fire and the frantic, skittering beat of her own heart. Human Queen. Lyra's words echoed, a title that felt less like a crown and more like a brand.
For a long time, she didn't move. She stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she could physically hold the pieces of her shattered reality together. The air, once crisp and electric near the throne room, was warmer here, smelling of woodsmoke and the faint, clean scent of the linen on the bed. It was a cruel mockery of comfort.
Her eyes were drawn to the window. She forced her trembling legs to carry her across the room. The stone floor was cold beneath her thin socks. Peering out, her breath caught. Two moons dominated the sky—one a massive, pearlescent orb veined with shades of blue and silver, the other a smaller, sharp crescent the color of blood orange. Their combined light washed the world below in an eerie, beautiful silver-and-copper glow. She saw jagged, dark peaks silhouetted against the sky and the faint suggestion of a vast, sleeping forest. There were no city lights. No signs of anything she recognized. The view was breathtaking, and it filled her with a loneliness so profound it was a physical ache.
A soft knock-knock at the door made her jump, her hand flying to her throat.
Before she could answer, the door opened. Lyra entered, carrying a wooden tray. The aroma that followed her made Elara's stomach clench violently—a rich, savory scent of roasted meat and herbs, something earthy and unfamiliar, and the warm, comforting smell of fresh bread. It was utterly alien and yet, her body, betraying her fear, responded with a sharp pang of hunger.
Lyra set the tray on the small table. The meal was simple but looked wholesome: a bowl of thick stew, a hunk of dark bread, a wedge of strange, white cheese, and a cup of what looked like water but shimmered with a faint silver luminescence.
"The King provides for his guest," Lyra said, her tone neutral. Her sharp eyes noted Elara's position by the window. "It is unwise to dwell on the view for too long. It only reminds you of the distance."
"Is this… Earth?" Elara asked, the question sounding foolish even to her own ears.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Lyra's lips. "No. This is the Ashwood Realm. Your world is… elsewhere. A shadow through the veil." She gestured to the food. "Eat. Your mortal body requires fuel. The aether here is thin for your kind; you will feel weak without sustenance."
Hesitantly, Elara approached the table. She sank into the chair, her body feeling heavy and drained. She picked up the spoon, her hand shaking slightly. The stew was delicious—hearty and warm, spreading a comforting heat through her core. The "water" tasted like drinking cold starlight, crisp and slightly effervescent, leaving a tingling sensation on her tongue.
As she ate, Lyra moved around the room with silent efficiency, straightening the already-perfect bed, brushing a non-existent speck of dust from the hearth.
"Who are you, really?" Elara asked between bites, her courage bolstered by the food in her stomach. "You're not like the… the wolf-guards."
"I am Fae," Lyra said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "My family has served the line of the Wolf King for generations. We see to the running of the keep, the… domesticities." She said the word with a hint of distaste, as if such things were beneath her, but her duty nonetheless. "The Lycans are his warriors. We are his… facilitators."
"Lycans," Elara repeated, the word feeling strange and heavy on her tongue. It sounded so much more formal, more deadly, than "werewolves."
"And him?" Elara pressed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "What is he?"
Lyra stopped her tidying and turned to fully face Elara. The flickering firelight danced in her serious grey eyes. "He is Kaelen. The First Fang. The last of the Primordial Blood. He is the mountain that does not bend, the storm that does not break. He is the law of this land, written in blood and shadow." She tilted her head. "He is the king who, for reasons none of us comprehend, did not have you torn limb from limb for trespassing in his sanctum. That is what he is. A mystery, wrapped in an enigma, cloaked in absolute power. And you, little human, are a question he has not yet answered."
The way she said it made a shiver run down Elara's spine. She was not a person. She was a question. A problem to be solved.
Finished with her meal, Elara felt a wave of exhaustion so powerful it made her head swim. The adrenaline of the day was deserting her, leaving behind a hollow, shaky shell.
Lyra seemed to sense it. "Rest. The bed is yours. I will return at first light."
"Wait," Elara said, as Lyra moved to leave. "The door…"
Lyra paused, her hand on the latch. She looked back, her expression unreadable. "The door has no lock." She said it not as a reassurance, but as a statement of fact. "There is no need. There is nowhere for you to go that the King will not find you. The castle itself will tell him if you wander. Sleep, Elara. Your safety is guaranteed by his word. That is the only lock you require."
With that, she was gone, the door closing with a soft click that sounded far more final than any bolt.
Alone again, Elara changed into the soft grey gown. It was too long, the fabric whispering against the stone floor as she moved. She extinguished the lamp and crawled into the massive bed. The blankets were impossibly soft, but the bed felt vast and lonely.
She lay there in the dark, watching the light of the twin moons paint shifting patterns on the ceiling. The castle's deep, resonant hmmmm was a constant vibration through the pillow, a lullaby for a world that wasn't hers. Every creak of the ancient stones, every distant, unidentifiable sound, made her tense.
She was a guest in a gilded cage. A mystery to be solved. A question for a king.
And as she finally drifted into a fitful, haunted sleep, one thought circled in her mind, a prayer and a curse all in one.
What does he want with me?