The walls were also carved with patterns that reminded me faintly of Greek figures. Beasts and gods and battles rendered in stone. Worn to the point that there were faces without eyes. Wings without feathers. Serpents curling endlessly into themselves. Every carving, every column, every arch served a purpose, structural or symbolic, or both. It was magnificent.
And it was cold.
Not just in temperature, though the chill seeped into my skin the farther we went, but mostly in feeling. There was no indulgence here, no softness. This was a fortress built to endure, not impress, and it sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the air.
We reached a grand staircase that spiraled downward in a slow, sweeping curve, its balustrades carved from the same pale stone. Smooth beneath my fingers when I brushed them lightly for balance. From this vantage point, I could see how vast the structure truly was, how the space opened below us into a cavernous expanse that made my stomach tighten.
The descent felt ceremonial.
Each step echoed faintly, the sound swallowed quickly by the sheer scale of the place. As we moved lower, the stone around us shifted subtly in tone, light grey giving way to something deeper. Until parts of the fortress almost looked as if they had been carved from bones rather than rock. The color was wrong in a way I could not fully articulate, pale and matte. It made my skin prickle.
By the time we reached the base of the stairs, my heart was pounding hard enough that I could feel it in my throat. The guards slowed, then stopped before a set of doors that towered over us. Their surface was etched with the same serpentine motifs I had seen throughout the fortress. These were not decorative. They were made for one purpose and one only…
To intimidate all those who thought themselves brave enough to enter.
This was it…no going back now.
The doors opened with a sound that rolled through the chamber. Heavy stone grinding against stone, which I felt in my chest before I saw anything at all. My hands were clenched inside the long sleeves of the borrowed dress, fingers twisting the fabric until my knuckles ached. As if I could anchor myself there, hide the tremor that ran through me by gripping onto something solid.
The guards at my side slowed, then stopped, and when I stepped forward alone, the space beyond revealed itself in a single, overwhelming breath.
Rows upon rows of soldiers stood in perfect formation, lining the length of the chamber from entrance to throne, unmoving and silent. Their presence pressed down on me with an eerie weight.
They did not shift as I entered, they didn’t so much as move an inch, let alone glance my way. Jesus, they did not so much as breathe. Their armor was not metal in the way I understood it, but stone. Layered and sculpted to resemble plates and joints, dark and pale veining running through it like marble brought to life. Faces were visible beneath helms shaped to echo the same serpentine motifs carved throughout the fortress. And though their eyes were open, watchful, there was something unnervingly still about them, even when the bang of the doors closing behind us echoed around them. As if they were statues caught mid-vigil rather than men standing at attention.
An army of living stone, summoned rather than recruited.
But then I took another step, and finally they moved.
Not forward, not toward me, but back, each line parting in perfect synchronization, retreating just enough to create a clear path down the center of the hall. The sound of it, the soft,grinding shift of stone against stone, raised goosebumps along my arms. Again, it felt like I was part of a ceremony, as if my presence here had been anticipated, rehearsed, and perfected long before I ever crossed into this land.
But then my breath caught for an entirely different reason.
At the far end of the chamber, elevated on a wide dais carved directly from the same stone as the ground, sat the throne.
And on it…
Sat a King.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.Could barely breathe.
He was larger than life, not just in stature but in presence, filling the space around him so completely that everything else felt like an afterthought. Broad shoulders stretched the dark fabric of the tunic he wore. The front of which was left unfastened and hanging loose, exposing a powerful chest marked with faint scars that spoke of battles survived.
His arms rested easily against the stone of the throne, leather bindings wrapped around his wrists and hands.
His hair was pulled back from his face, thick and dark, not quite black but rich and deep. Strange heavy locks bound behind him, held by bands of leather. There was nothing delicate about him, and yet the effect was devastating. There was a regal air about him and an obvious danger.
His eyes lifted to meet mine.
Green, but not any green I had ever seen before. They gleamed like oxidized copper, rich and luminous, layered with depth that made my pulse stutter as they settled on me. Assessing me. I had the sudden, visceral sensation of being undressed by his gaze, every inch of me catalogued, weighed, understood in a way that made my skin prickle beneath the fabric of the dress.
Fear hit me then, and I froze, my feet rooted to the stone floor, and my lungs refused to draw a full breath as my heart pounded painfully against my ribs. The silence stretched, and I was acutely aware of the army at my back. At the throne before me, and the fact that every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, even though there was nowhere to go.
His mouth curved. Not a smile, not quite, but something close enough to make my stomach tighten. Amusement flickered across his features as if my fear pleased him, or at the very least entertained him.
He raised a hand. He did not speak, but then again, he didn’t need to. The simple motion of his fingers, curling slightly inward, was enough to command the room,enough to command me.The unspoken order settled over my shoulders like a physical weight, and somehow that silence was far more unnerving than any barked command could have been.
Come closer.
