I whirl back to face him. “No, you worry too little! We”—I gesture between us wildly—“don’t know where we are. We don’t know how we got here. And we don’t know what those things are! But you”—I jab a fingerinto his chest—“you’re leaning back like we’re on a damn honeymoon carriage ride through the English countryside.”
His smirk deepens, his blue eyes sparking, and I realize, too late, that I played right into his hands. “Sweetheart, if this was our honeymoon, you’d be in my lap screaming for an entirely different reason.”
My stomach flips. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re spiraling.”
I press my lips together, exhale sharply through my nose, and sink back into the plush velvet.
The carriage crests a small hill, and the town sprawls out around us. Our pace slows as we descend over cobbled streets and into the village. Buildings rise on either side of us, their stone facades weathered with age and interwoven with gleaming metal. Silver pipes twist along the walls like veins, carrying plumes of steam to and from towering machines that hum and click from where they’re mounted on top of thatched rooftops.
Vendors line the streets, their carts overflowing with shimmering trinkets and polished gears that catch the light like jewels. Children dart between the carts, laughing as they chase the shadow of a massive clockwork bird perched on top of a spire. The bird’s metallic wings twitch and steam hisses from its joints as it lets out a mechanical cry that echoes across the square.
Noise grows in the distance, faint at first but unmistakable.
“Are people…cheering?” It’s not long before my question is answered and the celebration swells, vibrating through the carriage as it slows to a crawl, and we roll into the heart of the bustling village. Townsfolk pourinto the streets. People lean out of windows, climb onto rooftops, and wave blue and silver banners. The fabric ripples in the breeze, and I catch the emblem embroidered on every flag—a chalice surrounded by swirling waves.
The carriage creaks to a halt in the center of the square, and the noise swells again.
Alder takes a deep breath and claps his hands against his thighs. “Guess we’re about to find out why.”
The door swings open, and Alder moves first. He steps out, and renewed cheers ripple through the crowd. He turns and extends a hand to me.
As he helps me down, the world explodes into bursts of soft, fragrant color. Petals rain down from every direction, a kaleidoscope of flowers cascading through the air like perfumed confetti. The crowd surges forward, tossing blooms with wild abandon. Daisies, violets, and an unfamiliar pale blue flower cling to my skin, catch in my hair, and scatter across the cobblestones, painting the ground in a rainbow of blossoms.
“Three cheers for Lord Lockhart!” someone shouts, and the cry is echoed again and again until the sky feels like it might crack open with the force of it.
I glance up at Alder, expecting to see some sign of confusion, some acknowledgment that this is as baffling for him as it is for me. But no. Of course not.
He’s thriving.
He stands tall, his broad shoulders squared, his head held high like he was born to bask in this kind of praise. His dazzling smile radiates confidence, his blue eyes scanning the crowd with an ease that makes my stomach twist. He soaks it all in, not just unfazed butenergized.
And why wouldn’t he be? After all, that’s the luxury of being Alder Hawke—a gorgeous, tall, white alpha male.
Meanwhile, I’m left standing in the center of this storm of petals and applause, the cobblestones unsteady beneath my feet, and the suffocating realization that whatever is happening here, Alder isn’t just playing along. He’s already claiming it.
Just like he’s claimed me.
A trumpet blares, and I whirl around, craning my neck to see around the carriage. My heart slams against my ribs as my gaze lands on the castle, looming impossibly large and imposing in the late-afternoon sun. Its spires and domes shimmer in shades of blue and silver, fracturing the light into glittering shards.
My gaze drifts past the walls of the castle to a dark copse of trees that rises just beyond them. Their jagged peaks spear the sky, stark and menacing against the shimmering blue and silver. I saw them both from a distance before, but up close, it feels like they’re watching me back.
Unease churns in my stomach—but, no, that’s not quite right. I don’t feeluneasy. It’s deeper than that. I feel…pulled…trapped…summoned? It’s as if those trees are calling to my heart and etching hidden messages in my bones.
My chest tightens. I force myself to look away, but the sensation lingers—an itch I can’t quite reach, a whisper of something just out of earshot. It hums low in my veins, tugging at the edges of my thoughts like a half-remembered dream.
Boots crunch over gravel as one of the guards stepsaround the carriage and bows sharply.
“My lord.” He gestures to the other side of the carriage, where my view is blocked. “The ferry awaits. We must be on our way if we’re to keep schedule.”
I blink, trying to shake off the fog of whatever just gripped me, and nod almost absently. “The ferry?”
The driver snaps his whip, and the horses jerk forward, pulling the carriage toward the edge of the path. Their hooves clatter against stone as the sound of rushing water grows louder, more insistent. And then I see it.
The castle’s outer walls are alive with pipes and steam and waterfalls that cascade down in silken torrents and catch the light like molten silver. The streams twist and tumble through carved channels, their paths feeding into a vast, shimmering lake of dark, silvery waves that encircle the castle and ripple like liquid mercury.
Beyond the moat, the ocean stretches into the horizon, a frothing expanse of white-tipped waves crashing endlessly into one another. It’s overwhelming—so much movement, so much sound, so much power—and my pulse sputters as I take it all in.
