The throne room of the Blue Palace was bigger than anything I'd ever stepped into. Bigger than I'd imagined, even after the road here, even after the towering gates and the courtyard that had swallowed me whole.
And at the end of it, past the long red carpet, past the guards standing stiff at every corner, past the murmuring courtiers and advisors, sat the High Queen of Skyrim.
Elisif.
I froze, the bundle of dresses weighing heavier in my arms than steel plate.
The game had never done her justice.
She wasn't some flat-faced, doll-eyed figure of polygons and stiff voice lines. She was flesh and blood—skin pale as snow, framed by hair of gold braided down her shoulders, her crown resting delicately above a brow lined faintly by grief and duty. There was age in her, yes. Not the sagging kind, but the kind that spoke of weight carried for too long. The kind that pressed her shoulders even as she sat tall on the throne.
And yet—despite all that—she was beautiful. Radiant in a way that tugged at me, though I wasn't sure if it was because of her or because I was seeing, for the first time, a woman I had only ever known as pixels, now breathing, moving, alive.
My throat tightened.
Taarie walked beside me, calm as stone, her chin high. She gave a small bow as we stopped at the carpet's edge. I dipped my head, awkward, trying to mimic her.
"High Queen Elisif," Taarie began smoothly, her voice carrying clear, "on behalf of Radiant Raiment, we present the latest work commissioned for Your Grace."
The queen's gaze flicked down, to the bundle in my arms.
And gods, those eyes—bright, blue, sharp even through the haze of grief. They landed on me, and for a heartbeat, I felt as though she could see straight through me.
"Step forward," she said softly.
Her voice was music. Not fragile, not stiff, but warm in its own way, like a hearth's fire.
Taarie gave me a tiny nod. That was my cue.
I swallowed hard and forced my legs to move. Each step echoed far too loudly, until I stood before the throne. My hands shook faintly as I lowered the bundle to the steward standing nearby.
That was when I noticed him—Falk Firebeard. The same name I remembered from the game, but the man before me wasn't the stiff background figure I'd clicked through for quests. He was older than I expected, his hair grayer, his face lined with exhaustion. But his eyes were keen, sharp as a hawk's, watching everything with a suspicion I didn't like aimed my way.
Beside him stood another figure—Sybille Stentor. She was beautiful, just as the game had suggested, but not in the cold, detached way her digital counterpart had been. She had a sharpness, a presence, a weight that marked her immediately as dangerous. Her gown shimmered in the light, her dark hair falling over one shoulder, her lips curved faintly like she knew a secret no one else did.
And then—my eyes caught something else.
There was no Bolgeir Bearclaw.
Where I expected the massive Nord housecarl, there was instead a woman in plate armor. She was tall, her stance solid, her brown hair bound back in a loose braid. Her face… gods, her face. Beautiful wasn't enough. She outshone even Elisif, as though every angle of her had been carved by a god. But there was something about her that made my skin prickle. Not the beauty itself, but the… wrongness beneath it. Like a mask. Like a storm waiting under calm skies.
Her eyes met mine for a heartbeat, and I had to look away.
I didn't have the space to dwell on it.
"High Queen Elisif," Taarie said smoothly, drawing attention back. "The dresses, as ordered, are completed. Radiant Raiment is honored, as always, to provide Your Grace with attire befitting your station."
The steward accepted the bundle from me, unwrapping just enough of the fabric for the queen to see. Silk and velvet shimmered in the light, embroidered with threads of gold.
The queen smiled faintly, though her eyes lingered longer on me than on the dresses.
"And who is this?" she asked.
Taarie answered before I could open my mouth. "A courier of sorts, Your Grace. He was passing through Solitude, and I found him… useful."
The faintest twitch pulled at my jaw, but I said nothing. Taarie's words rolled off her tongue like polished stone, but they stung all the same.
Elisif tilted her head, studying me. "You are not of Solitude."
"No, Your Grace," I said quickly, keeping my voice steady, eyes lowered. "I… only just arrived."
"And yet you find yourself standing here," she murmured, her tone neither suspicious nor entirely approving. "Curious."
Sybille shifted slightly, her sharp gaze pinning me. Falk Firebeard's frown deepened, as though he were cataloging me in his mind.
I fought to keep my face neutral, but inside, unease coiled tight.
As I realized something... Why did I recognize them instantly, even when their faces were nothing like the game? Taarie looked nothing like the version I had known, yet I knew it was her the moment she opened her mouth. Elisif, too—different, more human, more real. And yet something in me had clicked the instant I saw her, whispering her name before she'd even spoken it.
Meridia.
I couldn't prove it, but deep down, I felt her hand in it. That whatever had dragged me into this world had also twisted my senses, letting me connect names and faces that otherwise should have been strangers.
The thought made my stomach churn.
Elisif's gaze lingered another moment before she nodded. "You have my thanks. Both of you."
Taarie dipped her head. I did the same, awkward but earnest.
The steward cleared his throat. "That will be all. The High Queen has matters of state to attend."
Dismissal.
Taarie turned smoothly, motioning for me to follow. Relief swept through me, though it was short-lived.
Because as I turned, I caught one last look at the woman in armor. Her gaze hadn't moved the entire time, fixed on me with a sharpness that made the back of my neck crawl.
Beautiful. Perfect. And wrong.
I forced my eyes away and followed Taarie out, the weight of the palace pressing down on me even as the doors shut behind.