The ride from Lunaveil to Mistfall had been long—and oh, so boring.

  Alone in the carriage, the princess was cursed with far too much idle time. Nothing to do but sit and feel—the dull ache of leaving her kingdom behind, the hollow absence of her ladies’ laughter, of her father. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels should have lulled her into sleep, but it only echoed the growing emptiness inside her, only silenced when she shoved the emotions down, down, down, and buried them beneath jewels and crowns.

  Adjusting her gloves, the princess stared out the window at the trees beyond. The road ahead curled into the forest, swallowing what little light the dying sun had cast over the horizon. It was growing quiet — the rustling of birds and animals faded into an ominous silence, the only sounds the rolling wheels and the occasional clattering of s armor as guards adjusted their seat.

  A flicker of movement between the trees had Seraphina’s gaze snapping to the forest’s edge.

  But there was nothing. Gnarled trunks and thick undergrowth. But from the shadows - eyes. A pair of dim, burning embers, peering at her with an ancient hunger, so red she would have attributed their likeness to fresh blood if she had ever seen such a sight. A deep, sharp throb pulsed in her head.

  Watching.

  A breath passed. Then another.

  Too fast, the figure melted into the darkness, as if it had never been there at all. A chill ghosted over her skin, the fine hairs at her nape rising. The air felt… off. Too still. Even the wind had hushed, leaving only the muffled clip of hooves on the frozen ground.

  But the guards were all unfazed, laughter trickling into the carriage, the figure gone in an instant.

  The horses tossed their heads, their ears twitching in agitation. Seraphina exhaled, rolling her shoulders back, dismissing the unease.

  She was tired — her mind playing tricks on her.

  And yet, a heavy silence followed her all the way to Mistfall.

  When the wheels beneath her lurched from uneven dirt to smooth, well-traveled stone, Seraphina straightened, a flicker of anticipation sparking in her chest. She leaned toward the window, the chill glass biting against her fingertips. The air had changed.

  Gone was the dry, dusty scent of the road. Now, it carried the warm perfume of fresh-baked bread and honeyed pastries, mingling with the delicate trace of flowers. But beneath that sweetness, something sharper drifted in—something crisper, foreign, cool. She closed her eyes, breathing it in, letting the breeze tug at the loose strands of hair around her face.

  Gone was the eerie stillness of the thick forest. Now, the air was pulsing with voices calling across the streets, the laughter of children chasing one another, the steady hum of a city at work.

  The streets narrowed as they neared the heart of Mistfall, the carriage jolting slightly as the horses’ hooves clattered onto stone bridges. The city sprawled along winding rivers, its homes and shops nestled between rolling hills and dense evergreen forests. Behind it all, the jagged peaks of mountains loomed, their icy crowns piercing the sky.

  Mistfall’s people bustled through the streets—lithe, graceful figures with the sharp elegance of elvenkind. No sluggish humans cluttered the pathways. No desperate beggars lined the walls. It was a city untouched by human grime, its beauty unmarred.

  Above them, the Palace of Mistfall rose like a vision from a dream. Its pale, shimmering stone seemed to melt into the sky, the sunlight catching on the smooth walls until it glowed. Banners hung from the turrets like silent sentinels—deep sapphire embroidered with the crest of the High Crown. But just below them, hanging slightly lower, were the banners of Lunaveil.

  Seraphina’s painted lips pressed into a thin line. If Mistfall thought so lowly of her kingdom, why had they needed this alliance?

  The guards escorting her carriage closed in as the roads narrowed, the scent of horse sweat and manure wafting through her open window. She shifted on the velvet bench for what felt like the hundredth time, angling herself to see past the rank horse outside, covering her nose delicately with a silken cloth.

  The people here seemed happy—on the surface, at least. In the outer city, she had seen humans mingling with elves, but as they moved deeper into the heart of Mistfall, she was pleased to see only her own kind. Pointed ears. Lithe frames. The effortless grace no human could ever hope to master.

  So orderly. So perfect. So elegant. It was a far cry from her father’s kingdom of tangled races and clashing customs.

  But even in this perfection, something tugged at her attention.

  A pair of children ran past the carriage, their laughter ringing through the brisk air. Seraphina caught herself watching them—watching the way their pointed ears peeked through unruly curls, the way they clutched stolen apple tarts like hidden treasure.

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  A memory stirred, unbidden. I used to—

  She exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. That was a lifetime ago.

  As they passed rows of grand buildings, her gaze snagged on familiar structures—the same magnificent temples that lay empty in Lunaveil stood abandoned here as well, ghosts of what they once were. Their marble walls, once pristine, were now dull with neglect, though their vaulted ceilings still bore the faint traces of divine artistry. She’d wandered through temples like these before, their silent halls echoing with the absence of gods long gone. What once stood as sacred spaces for her kind now sat hollow and lifeless. Each abandoned temple whispered of the gods’ retreat from the world, a void too vast to fill.

  If one believed in that sort of nonsense, of course. She was unconvinced these gods had ever existed at all.

  Still, it wasn’t the temples that unsettled her. It was something in the air itself.

  There was an undercurrent here, a tension in the air that pressed against her skin. It wasn’t like the organized chaos of her father’s court. The people of Mistfall moved with purpose, their gazes sharp, their smiles fleeting. For a moment, Seraphina wondered if they were afraid, if there truly had been something in the forest—but she brushed the thought aside with a flick of her wrist.

  Of course, they were anxious. What she had read as fear was certainly anticipation — like that of a child awaiting gifts on Yulemas. The royal engagement must have the entire city in a flurry of excitement. There would be music, dancing to melodies crafted by the finest composers. Exquisite gowns, glittering crowns, and hairstyles twisted into works of art. Tables laden with decadent foods, wines richer than jewels, and laughter that would echo through the halls for days.

  Elvenkind revered luxury, but they worshiped their celebrations. She wouldn't be surprised if they stretched the engagement ball into an entire month—perhaps a year, even.

  Their lives were so long, few and far between were such celebrations of marriage or child rearing. Such events, especially when concerning royalty, were sacred in their rarity.

  The mere thought of losing herself in flowing silks and glittering finery, surrounded by beauty and elegance, of the entire kingdom celebrating her sent a thrill down her spine.

  The closer they traveled, the taller the palace loomed against the bright blue sky. It was magnificent—twice the size of her father’s castle. Spires and towers gilded in silver and gold pierced the heavens, while the outer walls shimmered with a faint, magical glow. Several arched bridges, made of the same gleaming blue stone, stretched over the mirrored waters, their reflections rippling beneath cascading waterfalls. The afternoon light reflected on the mist from the falls, sparkling and glittering, suspended in the air, as if enchantment laced the kingdom itself.

  And one day, Seraphina thought, her heart swelling, it will all be mine.

  As they neared the outer walls, a massive golden gate shimmered in the sunlight, its brilliance nearly blinding. Evergreen trees and wild blooms dotted the palace grounds, their vines creeping up the walls in tangled patterns, as if even the flora and fauna sought to guard this ancient place.

  But it wasn’t just the walls that were heavily guarded.

  A heightened presence of soldiers lined the main gates, their armor gleaming under the sun. More paced along the palace battlements, their sharp eyes tracking every movement. The people watched as her carriage passed—some with curiosity, others with unreadable expressions, as if they did not respect her, that clung to her longer than they should have.

  Seraphina shifted against the plush velvet cushion, resisting the urge to fidget. She was a princess, and soon, she would stand beside the Crowned Prince as his future empress. Such titles alone demanded respect. They would learn.

  Though she hadn’t seen him since they were children, the thought of Adrian steadied her.

  A memory surfaced, unbidden but welcome—two elven children running through palace gardens, laughter echoing off the marble walls. Adrian’s mischievous grin, his untamed hair catching in the wind as he stumbled over his own feet trying to chase her. He’d been clumsy and sincere, a boy who knew nothing of crowns or politics. Just a boy who relished the freedom of sun—dappled gardens and the warmth of a friend’s laughter.

  Seraphina allowed herself a small smile, hoping that boy still lingered beneath the crown. Perhaps, she thought, our bond as children will follow us into adulthood. Perhaps the crown had not hardened him as it has me.

  Her wistful thoughts shattered as the carriage lurched to a halt.

  A figure in black stepped forward, armed to the teeth, palm raised in a silent command. An elf—his armor sleek but battle-worn, knives strapped to his belt, the sharp glint of a blade peeking from the curve of his shoulder. “Stop. ”

  “Papers,” the guard barked, his strange crimson eyes briefly meeting hers.

  The creak of leather and shifting steel muffled the words, making it difficult for her to hear the exchange between her guards and the other elf. She only caught fragments — Lunaveil. Princess. Alliance.

  The elf circled the carriage, scanning the surrounding woods before casting a sharp glance toward the window, as if he expected to find her ready for war. Stepping forward, he opened the door, gaze searching the inside before landing on her. “What are you?” His brows furrowed, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword, nose turned upward as if smelling her like a hound.

  Her lips parted, her chest tightening as a throb began in her head, the air thickening with the weight of his gaze. “Excuse me?”

  “You reek of magic.” He turned to another guard. “All must be checked before entering, by order of—”

  “I am the future Empress of Mistfall,” the princess interrupted, voice steady, chin high. “Unless you would like to explain to your Crown Prince why his betrothed was treated like a common criminal, I suggest you let us pass.”

  There was a long, tense pause before the guard begrudgingly stepped aside, waving them in — though his eyes eerie never left her entourage.

  The princess let out a breath she had not known she was holding, unsure if this had left her relieved or insulted.

  Yet, as the carriage crossed Mistfall’s gilded gates, dread curled low in her ribs—heavy, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore.