The carriage ride to the Obsidian Estate was not a leisurely Sunday drive. It was a descent into a nightmare, punctuated by moments of extreme violence and questionable parenting advice.
The Blackwood Forest lived up to its name. The trees were ancient, their bark as black as coal, twisting into shapes that looked uncomfortably like screaming faces. The canopy was so thick it blotted out the sun, plunging the road into an eternal twilight.
"This place has bad feng shui," Primrose muttered, clutching her seat as the carriage bounced over a root the size of a python.
"It is fortified with territorial wards," Archduke Cassian observed, looking out the window with clinical interest. "And... ah. Here come the welcome committee."
SCREEEECH.
The carriage slammed to a halt. The horses screamed.
From the tree line, shadows detached themselves. But they weren't shadows. They were grey, winged, and made of solid rock.
Gargoyles.
