Lyanna finally reached the towering castle after what felt like an endless three-and-a-half-hour drive, and the moment her bare foot touched the ground for the second time, she let out a sharp cry. "Ouch!" she hissed under her breath, hopping slightly, as though the earth itself had conspired against her. The ground was scorching—hotter than it had been before, searing into her skin as though her very leg would peel off. Of course, she wore no shoes; she didn't own any. Thank heavens for the long gown she had thrown on before leaving—it trailed over her feet and hid her discomfort from watchful eyes, but inside, she swore she'd never forgive Alaric for dragging her here without at least sending her proper footwear.
The carriage rider, stiff as ever, led her inside, and the moment the great doors swung open, Lyanna was stunned into silence. Dozens of maids stood neatly in a line, waiting like soldiers in their uniforms, bowing ever so slightly at her entrance. She barely noticed them at first because her eyes went upward—her lips parted, breath caught. The chandelier. Oh heavens, the chandelier! Golden crystal arms stretched across the ceiling, its many prisms scattering light in a cascade of glittering sparks. The glow transformed the whole hall into something otherworldly, as if she had stepped into a dream of splendor. She had never seen such brilliance, not even in her father's once-proud house.
"Oh my, oh my—" she gasped, her voice echoing off marble walls, "are you sure this is a castle? Because it looks more like paradise!" Her mouth hung wide in sheer amazement, unashamed and unladylike.
A maid, timid but dutiful, spoke up. "No, my lady, it is not paradise."
Lyanna froze, then burst out laughing, pointing at herself in disbelief. "My lady? Did you just call me my lady?" She doubled over, the sound of her laughter bouncing across the hall. "You're too polite! I'm Lyanna, not My Lady." She waved dramatically, as though dismissing the title with a flick of her wrist.
"No, My Lady," another insisted, more firmly this time. "You are a distinguished guest of our king. We dare not call you by your name." This one was older, clearly the head among them, her face strict yet softened by age.
"Ohhh, I see," Lyanna said, widening her eyes and forming an exaggerated 'O' with her lips. "But if you keep calling me 'My Lady,' I'll never be comfortable! I'll never be at ease!" She leaned forward, lowering her voice in a playful whisper that was still audible enough to carry. "Besides… you all look older than me. Why would you bow to me?"
The maids exchanged glances, smiling despite themselves. It had been so long since laughter filled these halls; the presence of this lively girl was like fresh air blowing through a suffocating chamber.
"Very well," another maid ventured, hesitant but bold. "If you dislike 'My Lady,' then perhaps we shall call you Miss Lyanna. Will that make you more comfortable?"
"Much better," Lyanna agreed instantly with a satisfied nod, before turning her gaze around the hall, searching curiously as though looking for something—or someone.
"Miss Lyanna, do you desire something?" one maid asked carefully. "We can fetch whatever you wish."
Lyanna pouted, tilting her head in mock thought before rolling her eyes. "No, no. It's nothing… just looking for that annoying guy who calls himself Alaric. He dragged me here, demanded I come, and now he's vanished like smoke. So exhausting! So annoying!" She hissed at the end, flicking her fingers dismissively as though swatting a fly.
The maids froze. Their eyes widened, shocked to their very core. No one dared—no one—to speak His Majesty's name so lightly, let alone dismiss him as "that guy." To curse at him? It was unthinkable, a crime punishable by death. Yet they kept their lips sealed, because it was clear—dangerously clear—that this girl had a special hold over the king.
"Please, please, my new friends," Lyanna added suddenly, clutching her stomach dramatically, "is there anything I can eat while I wait for your king to finally grace me with his oh-so-glorious presence? I'm starving! I might pass out before he shows his royal face."
The head maid recovered first, giving a subtle signal to four younger maids. "Yes, Miss Lyanna, we shall have a meal prepared at once."
"Thank you!" Lyanna said brightly, her mood lifting as she smiled warmly at the woman. That genuine smile touched the maid's heart; she found herself smiling back before quickly looking away, as though caught doing something forbidden.
They continued walking until they stopped before a grand chamber. One maid pushed the doors open, and Lyanna's jaw nearly dropped again.
Her room.
It was massive—no, colossal—lavishly adorned with velvet curtains, carved furniture, and a bed so wide it could have swallowed her whole. She rushed inside with childlike wonder, running her hands along the smooth walls, caressing the bed, the polished tables, every surface she could find, as though needing to touch them to believe they were real. She was halfway through opening the wardrobe when a knock came at the door.
"Miss Lyanna, the meal is ready. May we come in?"
"Of course!" she called back, practically skipping toward the table as four maids entered, balancing trays. They set them down gracefully, and Lyanna's throat went dry the moment her eyes landed on the spread: steaming steak, glistening prawns, fluffy pancakes stacked high, roasted pork, golden loaves of bread, fruits piled like jewels, and more.
She didn't wait. Grabbing a spoon, she dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in weeks. Only halfway through stuffing her mouth did she pause and look up sheepishly at the maids. "Oh, wait! Please, come join me. There's enough for everyone!"
They exchanged horrified glances and bowed quickly. "No, no. Thank you, Miss Lyanna, but we are full."
Before Lyanna could argue again, the door swung open.
And there he was.
The king.
Alaric stepped in with the weight of the storm itself, the room dimming around his presence. The maids immediately stiffened and lowered their heads, then fled silently, leaving Lyanna alone with him. She scowled, mid-bite, watching her pleasant company vanish. "Great. Just great. Run away and leave me with the uninvited guest," she muttered, stabbing a piece of steak and chewing noisily.
She didn't even look at him. She didn't flinch. She just kept eating, deliberately ignoring the tall, brooding figure who stood across the room, his crimson eyes narrowing as though her indifference was more insulting than open defiance.
"It seems," Alaric finally said, his voice low, cold, but edged with something unsteady, "I've become invisible to my little bride."
Lyanna didn't even raise her gaze. She sipped water, wiped her lips daintily, and let out a sigh as if speaking to herself. "Hmm. I thought royalty was supposed to be punctual. But perhaps I was wrong." She shoved another bite into her mouth, cheeks puffed like a mischievous squirrel, eyes dancing though she never once looked at him.
And in that moment, the predator realized he would have to chase—because his prey wasn't running. She was sitting, feasting, laughing at him without even glancing his way. And it infuriated him. And it enthralled him.