Lyanna wandered cautiously through the castle corridors, her steps light but deliberate, her eyes drinking in the soaring ceilings, ornate moldings, and shadowed corners of this vast, unfamiliar domain. She still struggled to memorize the labyrinthine layout; every corridor seemed to twist unexpectedly, every stair led to new rooms she had yet to explore. The grandeur was intoxicating, yet overwhelming, as if the walls themselves were alive, watching, breathing. Her thoughts swirled: Could this really be her life now? Would she ever feel at home in a place this vast, this imposing?
She turned a corner, only to stumble slightly into a figure she had not anticipated. A young woman with eyes as red as the deepest garnet stared back at her. Lyanna blinked, flustered but quickly recovered, noting the striking similarity of the woman's gaze to Alaric's own—though Alaric's eyes were always in flux, shifting from black to orange, a living flame that unsettled yet fascinated. Strange… Lyanna thought, but there is something… almost familiar in those eyes. The woman's expression was calm yet piercing, a quiet challenge etched into her every line, as though Lyanna had just wandered into a battlefield unseen.
"Excuse me," Lyanna began, her voice deliberately teasing, "do you always block the corridors and bump into someone deliberately, or am I just special?"
The woman smirked, a curve of lips that hinted at amusement and irritation all at once. "You'll find the castle has many rules you don't yet know, Lyanna," she said, emphasizing the name as if it were a weapon.
Lyanna caught the subtle distaste in her tone and straightened, chin lifted, meeting the gaze head-on. "Sorry… do I know you?" Her voice was innocent, soft, yet carried the steel of someone unafraid.
The woman let a pause linger, as if weighing whether to dignify Lyanna with an answer. Finally, she spoke, sharp and clipped: "You're not worth my attention, nor do you hold anything I ever desire."
Lyanna arched a brow, letting a small, playful smile creep across her lips. "I'm not worth it? Then you went to the trouble of stalking me all the way here. I really see what I'm worth now." Her words worked like a charm; the woman's restraint faltered.
"You are trying to snatch what belongs solely to me," the woman hissed, "and I will not stand idly by while that happens."
"Oh, she's finally confessed her problem with me," Lyanna replied, tilting her head thoughtfully, "but last I checked, I'm only meeting you for the first time. How could I possibly snatch away what belongs to you?"
The woman's eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a line of warning. "You seem very clever. It's up to you to figure it out… else don't blame me if I am ruthless." With that, she turned sharply, gliding down the corridor and disappearing from view, leaving Lyanna standing in quiet contemplation.
Crossing her arms and leaning on the balustrade of a balcony, Lyanna whispered to herself, "Could she be referring to Alaric?" A small smile touched her lips. This is going to get interesting. So that annoying king actually has a love interest and dares to marry me… let's see how he explains this. She gazed outward, the castle sprawling beneath the moonlight, silent and beautiful.
The castle's etiquette and hierarchy became apparent as she continued her exploration. Courtiers and attendants watched silently from the shadows, maids flitted about their duties, and every movement seemed imbued with subtle tension. The castle itself was a living entity, echoing the whispers of its occupants, flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows on the cold stone floors. Lyanna had to navigate carefully, aware that her every step might draw notice—or judgment.
Her wandering eventually led her to the royal kitchen, a cavernous space brimming with activity. Massive ovens glimmered, gleaming utensils hung in perfect alignment, and the rich aroma of baked bread, roasting meats, and sweet pastries filled the air. The kitchen staff, initially startled, bowed in synchronized deference the moment they saw her. Lyanna chuckled softly, waving a hand in protest.
"Oh no, no, you don't need to be so polite to me," she said warmly.
"It is normal etiquette, Your Highness," replied the head chef, leaving Lyanna momentarily confused. Your Highness? When did I become that? She chose to let the thought pass.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your duties; please continue. I'll watch from behind." Lyanna picked up an apple from a counter and began munching absentmindedly, feeling the warm, bustling life of the kitchen around her.
Her attention was soon drawn to a young male chef crafting cookies with careful precision. Curiosity overtook her, and she asked politely, "May I taste one?"
His eyes widened, and he inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Your Highness."
The moment the cookie touched her tongue, Lyanna's eyes sparkled. It melted luxuriously, leaving a lingering warmth and sweetness that made her exclaim in delight. "This is heavenly! How do you make it taste so perfect?"
As she ate, her mind immediately flicked to Alaric. He had barely eaten since morning, and a small pang of concern mixed with mischief compelled her to save some for him. "Please," she asked, "would you teach me how to make these?"
The chef explained patiently, demonstrating precise motions and ingredient proportions. Lyanna tried her best, flour dusting her hair and gown as she worked, cheeks flushed with excitement and concentration. Each attempt was imperfect, yet each brought a grin to her face. After several tries, she finally created a batch close enough to the original. Satisfied, she carefully bundled the cookies in a small yellow bag, tying it neatly.
Exiting the kitchen proved more challenging than she anticipated; the labyrinthine corridors tested her memory and stamina. By the time she found her room, she was thoroughly exhausted. She freshened up in silence, then looked toward the hall, her curiosity pulling her eyes toward the door. Spotting two maids on duty, she called them over.
"What time does the king usually return?" she asked, trying to mask her impatience.
The maids exchanged uncertain glances. "We… we do not know, Your Highness."
Lyanna sighed, suppressing a giggle. "Very well, then fetch my painting materials. I'll keep myself busy." The maids, understanding her whim, scurried to obey, returning swiftly with brushes, paints, and a canvas. She set herself near the window, the moonlight casting silver streaks across her workspace, and began painting whatever came to mind—the grandeur of the castle, and the creature she dreamed of earlier at her father's Mansion .
Hours slipped by as shadows grew long and the castle settled into nocturnal hush. Her thoughts wandered to Alaric—his unwavering presence, his volatile moods, and the puzzle of his expression that never revealed his intentions. Time crawled; she grew hungry and, unable to resist, sampled some of the cookies she had made, savoring them slowly as if each bite could stretch the minutes into hours. Exhaustion finally overtook her, and she nestled onto the chaise with the bag of remaining cookies clutched to her chest.
No more than two hours had passed when Alaric entered her chamber. Moonlight poured through the tall windows, spilling across her pale, serene face, illuminating the delicate curve of her shoulder. She looked angelic, peaceful, yet the subtle rise and fall of her chest spoke of the gentle defiance that even sleep could not fully quell.
Alaric paused, his gaze drawn to the cookies—half-eaten, yet lovingly prepared. A wry smile played across his lips. How dare she eat what she specifically made for me… what a nerve. His thoughts danced between amusement and a deepening fascination. He had not expected such audacity from a girl so seemingly delicate, and yet, here she was, claiming her space in his world with a playful innocence that both enthralled and infuriated him.
He stepped closer, silently observing her as he allowed the quiet of the castle to envelop them. This is going to be very… interesting.