A flicker of amusement crossed Kalenya’s face, though Ella caught the hint of calculation in her eyes.
Ella pushed further. “And I’ll take a dress. Everyone wants a warrior to fight in pants. No one expects blades strapped at both calves and thighs.”
“You want a gown for combat,” Kalenya said, the disbelief plain in her tone.
“You asked.” Ella lifted a brow and shrugged. She was tired of wearing drab, oversized garb. “Pretty and lethal are not mutually exclusive.”
That earned her the ghost of a reluctant smile.
“So that’s why they kept you from me,” Kalenya muttered. “Fierce little thing. No wonder half the castle’s already nervous.”
Ella wondered how long it would take for word of her being there to spread. In Orchid, gossip like that would have raced through court like wildfire.
By the time Kalenya returned with the boots and her dress, suspicion had softened into a guarded respect. Ella noticed the quick work of the woman’s needle: pockets stitched into the black fabric, the hem shortened above the knee to free her legs. The leather puzzled her. From a distance, it looked like silk, but up close, it shimmered like obsidian veined with starlight.
Now, as she moved down the torchlit hall, Ella was grateful for it. The strange Dravaryn leather flexed easily with her movement, whispering against her skin, catching the light in fractured gleams and reminding her of the castle itself: beauty that was unexpected and alive.
She wound her way through narrow turns until she came upon four guards standing in full armor blocking a wide hallway that opened into a larger chamber. There would be no skirtingpast them, but she would fight her way through if she had to, even if she’d rather not draw that kind of attention.
Time to find out which way this place leans. Prisoner…or free to roam.
The scrape of steel echoed as every hand went to a hilt. Torchlight struck polished armor, casting an ominous gleam across their helms. Boots shifted. Shoulders squared.
Ella froze. Her palms dampened against her thighs, grateful for the pockets Kalenya had stitched into the dress. One hid the small knife she’d swiped from Jakobav’s chamber. It was nothing ornate, just a soldier’s blade—one forgotten when his room was purged of weapons.
But it would cut, and it was hers. That was enough. He probably hadn’t missed it yet. Or it was a test, and he’d noticed the moment it vanished, deciding to let her keep it—the kind of man who would wait until the moment it amused him to make her pay.
For a moment, the corridor held its breath.
Then, as though a silent command passed among them, the guards let their hands fall back into place. The rasp of metal dulled. The tension bled from the air, but not completely.
The shortest of them lifted his chin, just barely, in acknowledgment.
Ella swallowed, forced her legs to move, and kept walking.
Well, that settled it.
Her muscles only loosened once the guards were behind her, and it became clear Jakobav was the one running things here. No one had mentioned the king since her arrival, and even before that, the townspeople in the small villages outside Dravaryn’s capital, Draethmar, had whispered that the crown was hidden from sight.
Officially, foreign delegations were to blame.
Unofficially, rumor spoke of a devastating illness the royal family refused to admit.
Why did Dravaryn keep so many secrets?
The thought lingered as her gaze drifted along the hall, and she realized the castle no longer looked the same.
It had changed, or maybe she had.
She’d been in the castle less than a week, yet it felt as though she was only now seeing it. Compared to the warmth and opulence of Jakobav’s chambers, everywhere else had felt cold and hollow. Now, the floors no longer chilled her feet, and the walls weren’t slick with mildew. The castle’s beauty was almost discreet, drawing her to look closer.
The walls weren’t lifeless stone but ranged from charcoal to glassy black, reflecting light like a gem cracked open too violently. The air smelled different now too, less smoke and iron, more spice. Although she should’ve been afraid, she felt seen instead.
As much as Ella wanted to linger, she knew she likely was on borrowed time and continued her search.
A shadowed corridor revealed a cracked window.
Of course the windows weren’t locked.
