Chapter 3 - The Silent Carriage
The royal carriage of Ardenfall was built for comfort, lined with thick blue velvet and insulated against the harsh northern winds with layers of boiled leather. Usually, a journey across the rocky passes of the Wyrmtooth Mountains was loud with the clatter of silver flasks and the low laughter of traveling nobility.
Tonight, the interior of the carriage was as silent as a tomb.
Elias sat on the bench facing his bride, watching her through the shadows cast by the small oil lantern swinging from the ceiling. Princess Seraphine sat perfectly upright against the velvet cushions. She had been in that exact position for four hours, never leaning back, never bracing herself when the wheels hit a deep rut in the mountain road, never shifting her weight to ease the strain on her spine.
The heavy wooden helmet remained fixed upon her head, the iron serpent latch gleaming in the dim lantern light.
"The wind is rising," Elias said, his voice sounding flat and strange in the confined space. "We will reach the border fortress of Oakhaven before midnight. The servants have prepared the fire."
Seraphine did not answer. The narrow slit of her visor remained pointed directly at his chest.
Elias leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was a man trained to read the battlefield, to spot the subtle twitch of an enemy’s shoulder before an arrow was loosed. But how could he read a woman who gave nothing to the world?
"Did your father threaten you?" Elias asked, his tone dropping to a quiet, intense whisper. "Is that why you submitted to this cruelty? If you are a prisoner, Seraphine, you can tell me. I am your husband now. My swords are sworn to your defense, even against the King of Bellavere."
For a split second, something changed in the room. The air grew heavy, and the oil lantern began to flicker wildly, the flame turning a strange, pale shade of green before snapping back to gold.
Then, a voice emerged from the helmet.
It did not sound like a princess. It was double-toned—two voices speaking in perfect, terrifying unison. One was the soft, melodic cadence of a young woman; the other was a low, resonant hum that sounded like wind howling through an ancient hollow tree.
"Do not... touch the latch, Prince Elias," the voice rasped, the words halting, as if her tongue had forgotten how to shape the language of men. "My father... did not build this cage to punish me. He built it... to keep you alive."
Elias froze, his hand instinctively dropping toward the dagger hidden inside his boot. "What are you?"
"I am the price of your peace," the dual voice whispered. The helmet tilted slightly downward, as if she were looking at her own pale hands. "Two years ago... the stars fell into the eastern valley of Bellavere. I went to see them. I drank from the well where the stardust burned. Now... if daylight touches my skin, the sky will remember what I took, and it will come down to claim it."
"You are speaking in riddles," Elias said, his grip on his hidden blade tightening. "If you are sick, we have physicians in Ardenfall who can cure the madness of the blood."
"There is no cure... for eternity," she answered, the low hum beneath her voice vibrating through the carriage floorboards. "Tell your guards... to double the watch tonight. My father's men are not here to protect us. They are here to make sure I do not escape before the solstice. If I leave the iron... before the proper moon rises... Bellavere will burn, and Ardenfall will follow."
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Before Elias could press her for more answers, the carriage came to a sudden, violent halt. Outside, the horses screamed, their hooves thrashing against the rocky ground. The sharp ring of drawing steel echoed through the mountain pass, followed by the deep, panicked shout of his captain of the guard.
"Ambush! Protect the Prince!"
