Inside, the palace was even more overwhelming.
The doors shut with a deep, echoing thud that seemed to seal the world outside away. Cold stone stretched in every direction, lit by tall iron chandeliers and narrow stained-glass windows that filtered light into dark reds and blues. The air smelled faintly of smoke and pine, sharp and clean.
Maya slowed without realizing it.
Her footsteps echoed too loudly. Every sound did.
She glanced up, then around, her neck aching as she took in the vaulted ceilings and carved pillars. "Okay," she whispered, half to herself. "Yeah. This place definitely has ghosts."
Darcien shot her a sideways look. "It does not."
"That's exactly what a haunted palace would want you to think."
He ignored her.
Servants moved with silent efficiency around them, peeling off to their duties without a word. Alaric walked a step behind and to the right of Darcien, his presence steady, watchful. Maya noticed how nothing escaped his attention—not her wandering gaze, not the way her hands fidgeted with the fabric of her sleeves.
She leaned slightly toward Darcien. "He doesn't talk much, does he?"
"He speaks when necessary," Darcien replied.
"So… never," she muttered.
Alaric did not react.
They ascended a wide staircase, its banister carved with sharp, thorn-like designs. Maya trailed her fingers along the stone for just a second before pulling her hand back, suddenly aware of how cold it was.
As they walked, the earlier unease crept back in.
The carriage.
The blood.
The way the man had crumpled after the stone struck him.
Her stomach twisted.
She hadn't said a word since the attack—not really. She had gone quiet, her mind folding inward, replaying the moment over and over again. Darcien had noticed, of course. He noticed everything. But he hadn't asked. He hadn't offered comfort. He had simply watched her with that sharp, unreadable gaze.
Now, as they moved deeper into the palace, the silence pressed heavier.
Maya's steps slowed.
Darcien noticed immediately. He stopped.
"Princess Elowen," he said calmly.
She looked up at him, blinking, as if pulled from far away.
"You have been quiet," he continued. "More than usual."
She swallowed. "Yeah. I guess."
He studied her face, his eyes lingering just long enough to assess—not comfort, not soften.
"You are shaken," he said. It was a statement, not a question.
She nodded once. "I killed someone."
The words sounded strange out loud. Unreal.
Darcien's expression did not change. "You helped me."
Her fingers curled into her palm. "Still."
He watched her carefully. In his mind, something didn't align. Even female werewolves—trained, hardened—often reacted after bloodshed. Fear. Shock. Trembling. Humans were far more fragile.
Yet she stood there. Pale, yes. Quiet. But not broken.
"You should rest," he said finally. "Alaric will see you to your chambers."
Maya hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
She turned, then paused, glancing back at him.
"What if…" she began, then stopped herself. She shook her head lightly. "Never mind."
Darcien frowned. "What were you going to say?"
She forced a small smile. "Nothing important."
He did not press her.
Alaric stepped forward. "This way, Princess Elowen."
Maya followed him down a long corridor, her thoughts drifting again—not to the palace this time, but to the flashes she couldn't explain.
A car skidding.
Glass shattering.
Trees rushing past as she ran into a forest without thinking.
She hadn't remembered any of it before. Not in the modern world. Not after waking up here.
It was like those memories had been locked away—until now.
She rubbed her arms, suddenly cold.
At the end of the corridor, massive doors opened into her chambers.
Maya stopped short.
The room was enormous—dark velvet drapes, a high canopy bed, carved furniture, and a fireplace already lit, its flames low and steady. It felt less like a bedroom and more like a queen's sanctum.
She turned slowly, eyes wide.
"…Okay," she breathed. "This is unreal."
Alaric inclined his head. "If you require anything, summon a servant."
She looked at him again, studying his flawless posture, his immaculate hair.
"Still not telling me your routine?" she asked hopefully.
Silence.
She sighed. "Worth a try."
He bowed once and left without another word.
The doors closed.
Maya stood alone in the center of the room, the weight of everything finally settling in. The visions. The blood. The palace. Darcien. The queen.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing her palms into the mattress.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Maya realized something with terrifying clarity.
This place wasn't just dangerous.
It knew her.