The gates themselves tower above Elyssara, immense slabs of lacquered crimson hardwood studded with rows of burnished gold bosses.
It is not a palace meant to welcome visitors. It is a fortress meant to remind you whose ground you stand on.
“I know Rhae told you about Maireth,” Kael says quietly beside her.
He always knows.
The desert wind lifts the long black coat around his legs, the obsidian crown at his brow glinting in the sun.
Elyssara exhales slowly through her nose.
“Yes.” The word comes out softer than she intends.
Kael’s gaze drifts toward the towering gates ahead of them, his expression unreadable beneath the sharp angles of his mask.
“Wait until you meet Princess Marin.”
Elyssara turns her head toward him, the copper filigree of her mask catching the sun.
“Worse?”
A quiet breath of amusement escapes him.
“Fucking diabolical.”
The gates groan as they begin to open, like an invitation into the wolf’s den. But between Maireth and Marin, she isn’t entirely sure which wolf leads the pack.
Dust shivers from the hinges as the fortress awakens. The sound rolls across the courtyard like distant thunder—a warning for those listening closely enough.
Servants in crimson silk bow low as the massive doors part, revealing the flame of hundreds of lanterns from the palace beyond, trying their hardest to shine in the overpowering Caelorian sun.
Music drifts out to meet them. Strings and bells. Low drums echoing like heartbeats.
For a moment neither of them moves. Then Kael steps closer, his voice dropping low enough that only she can hear it.
“Every protective instinct in me wants to send you back to Zerynthia.”
Elyssara’s pulse stutters, she opens her mouth to retort, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish.”
“I want to lock you behind walls,” he continues, eyes fixed on the palace before them, “and put an army between you and this court.”
She turns toward him then, studying the hard line of his jaw beneath the obsidian mask.
“And the rest of your instincts?” she asks quietly.
His gaze finally drops to hers. Stormlight eyes. Sharp. Certain.
“The warrior in me sees the warrior in you.”
The words land between them like steel striking steel.
His voice lowers, rough with reverence.
“Wear their fucking skin tonight, my queen.”
Elyssara’s spine straightens. Her chest settles. And this time it is not fear.It is resolve.The kind that comes when someone you trust believes in you.Trusts you back.
If this is one of the last peaceful moments they ever have together, neither of them says it aloud.
