|chapter 15|

|chapter 15|
|Talitha|

I jolt awake as the carriage lurches hard upon the road. For a moment I am adrift, torn between dream and waking, until I feel the warm weight of Erna against my lap. Her breath is soft, her curls damp with sleep. I smooth a hand through her hair, and she stirs faintly, nestling closer.

Careful not to wake her, I lean toward the small window. The vast night meets me. It seems we have reached our destination; though the day has passed unseen, and now the moon reigns high, casting its silver light upon all it touches.

The castle rises upon the hill like a sentinel of stone, its towers piercing the heavens, walls black and unyielding against the glow of night. The sight seizes my breath. Not a mere dwelling, but a fortress.

Beneath it, the road unfurls toward a bridge broad and ancient, its arches spanning a river that gleams dark as glass. The waters shift with the moonlight, restless. Awe pricks at me, yet it is threaded with unease because my heart knows what my eyes behold. This is no sanctuary. It is a cage fairer than most, a prison gilded in moonlight.

The carriage rattles beneath the tall gates, an arch of blackened iron. Upon either side stand sentries in full arms. Their spears gleam in the moonlight, their armor etched with the sigil of the crown. At the sight of the royal guard escort, they incline their heads in reverence and let us pass.

How poor our carriage must seem among such grandeur. It bears the marks of Eldwyn, plain wood and weathered wheels, unfit for such walls. Their eyes fall upon it with curiosity, some with disdain. I feel the truth of it. Already, I am marked as less.

The wheels grind to a halt before vast iron-bound oak doors, carved deep with the forms of wolves and the watchful eye of the moon.

Who would need doors that rise so high?

The carriage door swings open and a hand gestures that we alight.

I gather Erna close, her small body limp with sleep. My legs quiver as I step down, the earth steady beneath me. Around us, soldiers stand in ordered ranks, gazing on us with the same curiosity one would a strange beast. Some look upon me with open suspicion, and though no words pass their lips, I feel the questions in their eyes.

My arms tighten around Erna, and as I move towards the door, I see him there—the tall wolf I glimpsed before, Rotsam. He waits upon the steps, soldiers flanking him in a rigid line.

When I draw near, he bends his head in a bow with a stoic dignity that unsettles me. His gaze does not linger long. Instead, he gestures to three women who step forward from the shadows.

“Your attendants,” he says, his voice even, giving nothing of himself away. “They will see to you and show you to your chambers.”
The women bow low, their eyes staying lowered, while their hands remain folded before them. They wear plain gowns of deep grey, yet there is a precision to their bearing that speaks of discipline. I nod, though my heart throbs uneasily. My lips part to ask a question, but before the words can form, the man bows once more.Then he turns and departs, leaving only the soldiers at his back.

The maids gesture to me as they guide me forward. I follow, Erna’s weight steady in my arms, my own footsteps echoing in the vastness. The halls are endless, carved of cold stone with their heights lost in shadow. Torches gutter along the walls, their flames dancing in the wind; and from the tall windows, the moon spills her pale silver, painting the corridors in a ghostly glow.

The sheer size of the place presses upon me. Each turn makes me feel small, diminished, as though the walls themselves bear down on me in judgment. We pass a hall grander than the rest, its archway wide and stately. Within it, I glimpse tapestries heavy with color, scenes of battles and triumphs woven in thread and time. Portraits of previous monarchs line the walls, their faces stern and commanding.

My gaze halts upon one. A man, broad-shouldered and golden-eyed, whose bearing is a mirror of the Alpha King’s. Demetrius’ father undoubtedly. The painted eyes seem to follow me, and a chill creeps down my spine.

Then faintly, I hear them. Howls. Distant and mournful. Are they from wolves beyond the walls, or some beast within? The sound lingers long after we move on.

Finally, the maids draw me into a chamber. It is vast, rich beyond anything I have ever known. Heavy drapes cloak the windows while thick rugs soften the stone beneath my feet. And the wide and adorned bed seems fit for a queen.

The maids busy themselves quickly, drawing back covers and lighting fresh candles. One of them speaks gently, assuring me that all I may need is here. Another gestures toward a rope of tassel, crimson and gold, resting by the bed. “If you require anything,” she says, “ring this, and one of us will come. You are free to wander about the castle, but not beyond your wing. Not tonight.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a heartbeat, something unsaid passes between us. Then they bow and depart, the heavy door closing behind them and sealing me within.

The silence immediately presses close. I lay Erna upon the bed, her small form curling against the pillows. I sit beside her, clutching her hand as though it anchors me against the tide of dread. My gaze roams the rich and beautiful chamber. It is oh so elegant, yet it suffocates me. I draw a steadying breath, forcing the words back into my heart. For Erna’s sake, if for nothing else, I must endure.

Time passes slowly and the chamber grows heavy with silence. Only the faint crackle of the candles and the even rhythm of Erna’s breathing stir the stillness. I lie upon the bed, my body weighted by exhaustion. My eyes close despite my will to remain alert. Sleep hovers near, elusive but persistent, and I begin to drift into its hold. That is... until I hear a scratch.

The sound is slight, yet sharp enough to rouse me from the edge of slumber. My eyes open, straining against the dimness. For a moment I think I must have dreamed it.

Scratch.

Again, faint yet deliberate. A prickle races over my skin. Slowly I lift my head, listening. The sound comes from the balcony doors, a steady rasp of claw upon wood.

It must be the wind, I tell myself. Perhaps it is nothing more than branches clawing against the concrete balustrade of the balcony. Yet no trees stand so near these walls. My breath quickens.

I rise from the bed and tread softly across the thick rugs, careful not to wake Erna. Each step seems to echo in the cavernous chamber, though I move as lightly as I can. The noise continues, insistent, and my hand trembles as I draw nearer.

I pause just short of the doorway where the curtains stir faintly with the draft. In the darkness, I make out two golden orbs, bright as embers, gleaming from beyond the swaying curtains.

I freeze, my breath catching sharp in my throat. Those eyes—there is something familiar about them, as though they are a sight I have beheld before. I try to move but realize I cannot. A cry struggles at the edge of my voice, but no sound escapes.

And then…nothing.

The eyes vanish, gone as swiftly as they appeared, and leaving behind the nothingness of dark. My gaze shifts, drawn by the faint gleam of moonlight. Upon the railing of the balcony, etched deep into the wood, lie fresh claw marks, jagged and undeniable.

I stagger back, my pulse wild. My hand clutches at my breast as though to steady my heart. I think of the maids, of the tasseled cord that hangs ready by the bed. One pull and they would come. And then I might be safe.

But the thought dies before it can fully take root.

I cannot trust them. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Even their silence seems laced with something withheld. To call them now would be to place myself in hands which I cannot be sure of.

I return to the bed, my mind reeling. My life is no longer mine. That much I know. From the moment Demetrius' eyes found me, from the moment he spoke the word mate, my path was altered forever.

Yet tonight, beneath this roof, another truth claws its way into me. I do not know if I have carried my daughter into safety, or into the very maw of danger itself.