The journey continued in the same grueling rhythm it had taken. Ferramonte unveiled itself to Hermi, fully revealing the infamous wasteland it was.
To every horizon, endless deserts of volcanic ash stretched out like a gray, frozen sea. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, and a metallic taste kept clinging to the back of her tongue.
When night fell, Marco and the knights took turns keeping the campfires burning. They treated the task with more gravity than guarding the horses, the carriage, or even their own lives. Cassian would sleep in the open air with his men, leaving the entire carriage for Hermi's use.
As for Hermi herself, she was often too exhausted to care whether he was nearby or not. With only a few sips of water each day and dry, tasteless food to chew on, she felt herself wasting away inside the carriage as it rolled relentlessly onward.
At last, on the seventh day since they had crossed the border, Marco's excited shout came from right beside the window.
"Your Majesty, we have finally arrived!"
Hermi swept the curtain aside, struggling to lift her eyelids. What met her gaze were the colorless, narrow streets of Ferramonte's fortress city. As expected, the people looked utterly miserable. Their faces were hollowed out, and their limbs were frighteningly thin.
"That's the Black Fortress, Your Majesty," Marco said, pointing at the city's highest point. Atop the summit sat a massive, windowless fortress of dark iron and stone.
Hermi's gaze drifted toward the towering ramparts of jagged black stone bordering the city instead.
"Why are the city walls so high, Commander?"
"It's because of the Nightstalkers, Your Majesty."
"The Nightstalkers?" Hermi had never seen that name written in any book before.
"Yes. Nightstalkers are monsters that only dwell in dead zones where no light reaches. But Your Majesty need not worry. As long as we remain behind the walls of the Black Fortress after nightfall, no Nightstalker can reach us."
Hermi nodded dully, sinking back into the cushions. Now that they had reached Ferramonte's depth, there was no mana remaining in the air. With no spell at hand, she couldn't imagine wandering outside the city to face any creature at night.
When they reached the fortress, it was already evening. The black spires looming above the structure looked dreadfully gloomy against the ashen sky overhead.
As Hermi stood beholding the bleak entirety of her future home, Cassian's voice came from behind her, saturated with annoyance.
"Are you intending to stand there for the rest of the century, or will you eventually grace the interior with your presence? I was under the impression that you were eager to arrive."
Hermi turned around, her brow drawing tight to match his own. "I was eager. I simply... do not feel very well." Even her own annoyance wasn't hidden anymore.
His face suddenly eased into a rare smile. "You need a hand then, my Queen?"
Hermi instantly smiled back. "I could really use some help, my King."
"Commander Marco!" he bellowed. "Your Queen finds herself in need of a sturdy arm. See her inside."
Hermi grimaced behind as Cassian breezed past her and through the gate. Just the answer she expected; he wouldn't trouble himself to help.
By now, Cassian's cold indifference had grown so apparent it no longer surprised her. With Commander Marco's help, she struggled step by step through the fortress gate.
Inside, the fortress looked a few thousand years older than four hundred thirty. Four lines of servants stood to greet the fortress's master and his new wife. Their faces were taut, their clothes wrinkled. They looked less like royal attendants and more like people who had been told they were about to be executed.
Cassian gestured at Hermi, his tone as indifferent as his expression. "Servants, this is your new queen. My Queen, your servants."
The servants gave their new queen a deep bow, their voices ringing out of rhythm. "Your Majesty." There was no hint of welcome in their tone.
Hermi nodded at her future servants. After the encounter with the Silt Skulker, Hermi had changed to the plainest gown she could find from her spare clothes. With her hair sticky with slime and her face gray with desert ash, she wasn't exactly looking very queenly at that moment.
Turning to Cassian, Hermi lowered her voice. "My King, may I see my chamber first before anything else? I'm afraid I don't feel well enough for a welcoming tour of my new home."
Cassian didn't bother to lower his voice. He projected it clearly enough for every ear in the room to hear.
"It's your fortress now, my Queen. You may do whatever you wish here without the burden of my permission. In fact, do not trouble yourself by looking for me at all."
With that, he turned and ascended the grand stairs without a backward glance. Hermi stood stunned behind, watching him leave.
The awkwardness was thick enough to drain all the air from the room. What sort of husband humiliates his wife in front of all the servants, when they've barely been wed for weeks?
As Hermi stood gathering her dignity, the tallest male among the servants stepped forward.
"Your Majesty, I'm Enzo," he said. "I'm the Castellan of the fortress. May I help you to your chamber?"
Hermi's gaze turned toward the voice. Enzo was a young man in his early twenties. His hair was blond like dried wheat, his features more refined than the knights in Cassian's entourage.
"Enzo," Hermi acknowledged with a weary nod. "I am desperately in need of a bath. I had a bit of an... encounter on the road."
Enzo's voice was filled with understanding. "I could tell, Your Majesty. Allow me to escort you to your chamber."
He gestured toward the left corridor, and the servants made way for their Queen. Some followed Hermi and the Castellan, others returned to their chores.
All the way to her chamber, Hermi was in no mood to admire anything about the interior. She struggled just to keep her steps steady.
Seeing Hermi's struggles, Enzo extended a hand toward her. "Your Majesty, you must be exhausted from the long journey. Allow me to assist you."
Hermi hesitated. "You might want to reconsider that, Enzo. I haven't seen a bar of soap in days."
Enzo smiled a genuine smile. "That is normal for all journeys to Ferramonte. There is nothing to be embarrassed about."
Despite Enzo's reassurance, Hermi couldn't help feeling embarrassed. She had grown accustomed to leaning on Commander Marco, but he had seen her through weeks of dust; Enzo had only known her for five minutes.
Still, with how frail Hermi felt, she reluctantly accepted Enzo's hand. After a maze of corridors, they finally reached the Queen's Chamber.
"Livia will help you with your bath," Enzo gestured to one of the maids who had followed them into the chamber. "I shall see to your dinner. Enjoy your rest, Your Majesty."
Livia was a brown-haired woman a few years Hermi's senior. The moment Enzo and the other maids disappeared from the chamber, Livia's neutral expression changed completely.
"Your Majesty, get out of your clothes." Livia's voice wasn't the subdued kind a servant used to speak to their master, but clearly a command.
Hermi's brow drew tight. She might be a fake, but she was a fake with a title to maintain. "Excuse me, Livia. I realize I've only been in the fortress for ten minutes, but I believe I am still your Queen."
Livia's scorn didn't waver. "I'm sure that earlier, His Majesty made it clear in front of everyone how much of a queen you are to him. The way he treats you, anyone could tell he's already deciding which princess he'll marry next."