The heavy oak door clicked shut, swallowing the echoes of Vane's teasing and Kestrel's vibrant energy. Silence rushed back into the room, thick and suffocating. Elissa sat on the edge of her bed, her tea now lukewarm, staring at the frost patterns on the window.
Am I,A member of the castle, she thought, her fingers tracing the rough wool of her sleeve. Not a guest? Not a prisoner? Just... a part of the stone?
"I need to breathe," she whispered, the words puffing in the chilly air of the room.
Martha, who had been quietly tidying the table in the corner, looked up with a soft, knowing expression. The older woman had seen that look on many faces in the Bastion—the look of a soul trying to find its footing in a place made of ice and secrets.
"The air in these halls can get a bit heavy, can't it, petal?" Martha said, her voice a comforting rasp.
"I just... I need to clear my head, Martha. Somewhere where the walls aren't quite so close."
"The ramparts are too biting tonight," Martha mused, already moving toward the wardrobe. "The wind is coming off the glaciers. But the Glass Gardens... the air there is fresh, but the frost stays on the outside of the panes. It's bearable."
She pulled out a thick, charcoal-grey shawl, its wool heavy and smelling of dried lavender. She draped it over Elissa's shoulders, tucking the ends in with a motherly pat. "Come. I'll walk you down. The corridors are a maze when the shadows start to stretch."
The walk was silent. Martha held a small lantern, its light dancing off the obsidian walls. They descended a narrow spiral staircase that led away from the royal apartments toward the eastern wing. When Martha pushed open a set of reinforced glass doors, the scent hit Elissa first—damp earth, pine needles, and the faint, sweet ghost of winter roses.
The garden was a long, arched gallery of iron and thick, leaded glass. Outside, the Northern night was a howling void of white and black, but inside, the temperature was a steady, bracing cool. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic tink-tink of sleet hitting the glass roof high above.
"It's beautiful," Elissa breathed, stepping onto the mossy stone path.
"It's the only place in the Bastion that remembers the dirt," Martha said with a small smile. She looked at Elissa, noting the distant look in the girl's eyes. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, then. I'll be just outside the doors if you need me. Don't stay too long, or the damp will get into your bones."
"Thank you, Martha. Just... a few minutes."
Martha nodded and retreated, the heavy doors thudding shut with a dull, final sound.
Finally, Elissa was alone.
She walked slowly down the center path, her boots silent on the moss. The greenery here was dark and hardy—ferns with fronds like serrated knives, silver-leafed bushes that looked like they were made of moonlight. She stopped by a tall glass pane, pressing her forehead against the cool surface.
Who am I supposed to be at this castle? The inner thought was a jagged thing. She wasn't the Starwind Princess of Aethelgard anymore—that girl had died in the ice. But she wasn't a D'Valtheron either. She was a girl in between worlds, a "member of the castle" who felt like a ghost haunting its own life.
She pulled the shawl tighter around her, the cold air finally beginning to numb her cheeks. It was a relief, honestly. The physical sting was easier to handle than the emotional ache of the prophecy.
"You look like you're trying to garden with your mind," a low, familiar voice vibrated through the quiet.
Elissa jumped, spinning around.
In the shadows of a large stone pillar, half-hidden by a weeping silver willow, Alistair stood. He wasn't wearing his royal mantle or his sword. He stood in a simple black shirt and trousers, his hands behind his back, looking not like a prince, but like a man who had also come here seeking a way to breathe.
His sapphire blue eyes seemed to catch every stray flicker of moonlight from the glass roof, glowing with that same haunting intensity she had seen in the book.
"Alistair," she breathed, her heart beginning a frantic, uneven rhythm. "I didn't know anyone was here."
"I find the silence of the plants more tolerable than the silence of the ministers," he said, stepping into the dim light. He didn't come too close, but the space between them felt charged, like the air before a lightning strike.
The glass garden was a world of suspended animation, the only sound the rhythmic, metallic tink-tink of sleet against the high panes. Elissa felt the weight of Alistair's presence before she truly processed his silhouette. He was a shadow carved from the very darkness of the pillars, his silhouette sharp and uncompromising.
When she looked at him, the air in her lungs seemed to crystallize. His eyes—those sapphire, blue depths—weren't just looking at her; they were searching her. It was a gaze that felt like a physical weight, a silent pressure that demanded an honesty she wasn't sure she possessed.
Overwhelmed by the intensity, Elissa looked away, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She fixed her stare on a silver-leafed fern, feeling utterly lost in the wake of his attention. She felt like a riddle he was determined to solve, a secret he was peeling back layer by layer without ever touching her.
Alistair didn't move, but the atmosphere between them tightened, vibrating with the things they never said out loud.
"Kestrel mentioned your... lack of suitable attire," Alistair said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to hum through the mossy stones beneath her feet. "You may go to the market tomorrow. Buy whatever you need for the Solstice. Anything."
Elissa's head snapped back up, her eyes meeting his once more. The word 'Ball' felt like a cold stone dropping into a still pool. She wanted to tell him then—wanted the words to pour out of her. I don't want to go. I don't belong in a room full of vipers in silk. I am not a D'Valtheron, and I am no longer a Starwind princess. I am just... tired.
She opened her mouth, the plea hovering on the tip of her tongue, but her throat felt like it had turned to sand. The sheer gravity of his presence, the way the moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw, paralyzed her. Not a single sound escaped.