The carriage slowed, the rhythm of the wheels changing beneath them. Maya felt it before she saw anything—the subtle shift, the way Darcien straightened almost imperceptibly beside her.
She leaned forward, peering through the small window.
Her breath caught.
Tall iron gates loomed ahead, blackened metal twisted into sharp, elegant designs that reached toward the sky like claws. Torches burned along the walls, their flames steady, casting long shadows that stretched and curled across stone so dark it looked almost black.
The gates opened without a sound.
As the carriage rolled through, Maya's eyes widened slowly.
"Oh my—" she whispered. "This is… wow."
The palace rose before them, massive and severe, all high spires, narrow windows, and carved stone that seemed older than time itself. It wasn't soft or inviting like the main palace. It was commanding. Watching.
"It looks so gothic," she said in awe, turning slightly to Darcien. "Like something straight out of a dark fantasy movie."
Darcien frowned.
"Gothic?" he repeated.
She nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Dark, dramatic, kind of scary but beautiful. I mean, look at it."
He followed her gaze, then looked back at her with clear confusion. "It is simply a palace."
She stared at him. "You have zero imagination."
He said nothing, only watching her now as if she were a puzzle that refused to assemble properly.
The carriage came to a halt.
The door opened.
What greeted them made Maya forget whatever she was about to say.
Servants lined the wide steps leading to the entrance—dozens of them—standing in perfect formation, heads bowed, hands folded neatly before them. Guards stood behind them in dark armor, motionless, eyes forward. The entire courtyard was silent, disciplined, imposing.
Maya stepped down slowly, her eyes moving from face to face.
"Okay," she muttered. "This is officially intimidating."
Darcien stepped beside her, his presence alone causing the servants to bow deeper.
"Welcome home, Your Highness."
The voice came from the top of the steps.
A man stepped forward.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features carved into a permanently unreadable expression. His dark hair was pulled back neatly, smooth and glossy, not a single strand out of place. His posture was rigid, precise—every inch of him screamed control.
"Prince Darcien," he said, bowing deeply. "We've been awaiting your return."
Darcien inclined his head. "Alaric."
Maya's eyes locked onto the man instantly.
that's his right-hand man.
She didn't know what she expected—but it wasn't this.
She stared.
And stared.
Then, without meaning to, the words fell out of her mouth.
"What do you guys eat here?"
The silence was instant and heavy.
Several servants stiffened. A guard's jaw tightened. Someone somewhere inhaled sharply.
Alaric did not react.
At all.
Maya blinked. "No, seriously," she continued, stepping a little closer, studying him openly. "Your skin is insane. And your hair—" she gestured vaguely toward his head, circling her finger, "—it's shiny but not greasy. What's your routine?"
Darcien turned sharply. "Princess Elowen."
She waved him off without looking. "I'm asking an important question."
Alaric remained perfectly still, eyes forward, expression neutral—as though she hadn't spoken at all.
Maya waited.
Nothing.
She tilted her head. "…Wow. Okay. Strong silent type."
She leaned back slightly, folding her arms, still staring. Who is this guy? she wondered. Does he even blink?
Alaric finally spoke, his voice calm, even, disciplined. "Welcome to Blackthorn Palace, Princess Elowen."
That was it.
No comment. No reaction. No hint of offense—or amusement.
Maya exhaled slowly. "That's impressive," she muttered. "I could never."
Darcien turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly. "You are staring."
"I know," she said easily. "I'm curious."
"Curiosity is dangerous," he replied.
She shrugged. "So is being boring."
He stared at her for a long moment, clearly not understanding her at all.
Alaric gestured subtly, and servants stepped forward at once. "Your chambers are prepared," he said. "Everything has been arranged according to your instructions."
Darcien nodded. "See that she is attended to."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Maya glanced between them, then back up at the towering palace once more. "Seriously," she murmured, eyes shining. "This place looks like it has secrets."
Darcien paused, looking at her strangely.
"All palaces do," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Yeah. But this one looks like it enjoys keeping them."
He didn't reply.
As they moved toward the entrance, Maya cast one last glance at Alaric, still standing perfectly straight, unbothered, unreadable.
Definitely mysterious, she thought.
And Blackthorn Palace swallowed them whole as the doors closed behind them.