The ceremony had ended. The court slowly dispersed, leaving only a few attendants and the high-ranking servants who oversaw the transition of the bride to one of the chambers.
Elowen followed quietly, her hands folded before her. Every step felt heavy, yet her mind was focused on the man who had haunted her from another life.
Darcien walked ahead, silent as ever. The servants hesitated, not daring to speak unless spoken to. Even the air seemed to bend around him, quieting the world.
At last, they reached a smaller chamber, a room with tall windows overlooking the courtyard. Darcien stopped and finally turned to face her.
"Princess," he said, his tone clipped, almost cold. "Do you know why you are here?"
Elowen swallowed, her throat dry. She did not bow, though instinct told her she should. She kept her gaze on him, careful not to flinch.
"I know why," she said softly. "I am your bride."
His lips twitched slightly, as if amused—but his eyes remained sharp, scanning her as though trying to read every thought. "You are not what I expected. Not that I expected anything in particular. But you… you speak too freely. And yet, you tremble."
Elowen's chest tightened. Of course I tremble. "I am new to this," she admitted quietly. "I do not know the proper ways… but I will obey you. I… I will support you no matter what."
Darcien's gaze narrowed. He leaned back against the edge of the window, one hand resting on the sill. "Support me?" he asked, voice low and almost skeptical. "You think you know me, and yet, you barely know anything. Do you even understand what you are saying?"
"I understand enough," she replied, steadying herself. "I know you are feared… that people call you a monster. I do not care. I… I will stand by you."
He studied her for a long moment. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly—not a smile, but something… measured. "You are bold, I'll give you that. Perhaps foolishly so."
Elowen dipped her head ever so slightly. "Then allow me to be useful. Even in small ways."
A servant peeked in hesitantly. "Your Highness, the second queen wishes to speak with you briefly about the evening arrangements before you depart."
Darcien did not move at first. His eyes lingered on Elowen, assessing, weighing, as though deciding whether her words were truth or empty bravado.
Finally, he said, "Leave us."
The servant nodded and bowed, retreating quickly. The door clicked closed behind them.
Elowen shifted slightly. "I… I do not intend to cause trouble. I only want to… help where I can."
Darcien's gaze softened fractionally—barely perceptible—but the air between them remained taut. "Help," he repeated. "You will need to learn what that truly means here. Not everyone in the palace will tolerate kindness or loyalty."
"I am not here for approval," she said. "I am here for you. I… I will stand by you, even if you dislike me."
For a heartbeat, his sharp gaze faltered, as though considering whether to laugh or scowl. Then he stepped closer, close enough that she could see the faint scar on his cheek and the intensity in his eyes.
"You speak as if you know me," he said softly. "Do you? Or do you only know the image of the man others call a monster?"
Elowen met his gaze evenly. "I know more than they do. More than anyone else. And I will stay by your side. Always."
He regarded her in silence, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Then, slowly, he nodded. Not a gesture of warmth, not yet, but an acknowledgment.
"Very well," he said. "We shall see if your actions match your words."
Elowen allowed herself the slightest exhale, knowing this was only the beginning. The palace was full of eyes, full of schemes, and his stepmother already plotted quietly. But here, in this moment, she had spoken to him—and he had listened.
And that, she thought, was enough for now.
The carriage doors closed behind them with a soft thud. Hooves clattered along the cobblestone, echoing through the quiet courtyard as they rolled out of the palace gates.
Elowen settled herself into the velvet seat, smoothing her skirts and adjusting her circlet. For the first time since arriving at Valerith, she allowed herself to relax slightly, the tension of the court melting into the soft sway of the carriage.
Darcien climbed in beside her, silent as a shadow. Even here, confined to the carriage, his presence was imposing—every movement precise, every posture commanding. Most people would have been frozen with fear, yet she met his dark gaze evenly.
"It's a long road ahead," she said lightly, glancing out the window. "Four days, if all goes well."
He said nothing, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Elowen smiled faintly, undeterred. "I suppose it's quiet this way… fewer eyes, fewer whispers. At least the journey will be peaceful in that sense."
A pause. Darcien finally tilted his head slightly toward her. "you speak too freely."
"I see no reason to remain silent," she replied softly. "The world will judge me regardless. I might as well speak with a clear mind, even if only to pass the time."
He regarded her in silence, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he exhaled. "Most would not do so. Most would cower and mutter in their corners."
"Perhaps I am not most people," she said, with a small, teasing smile. "And anyway, I enjoy talking. It makes the hours pass faster."
He didn't reply, but she felt the faintest shift in his posture, a relaxation that suggested he was… tolerating her company.
The carriage rocked gently as it rolled over a stone bridge. Elowen leaned back slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye. "Do you enjoy traveling?" she asked casually. "I imagine you see many places, yet few people dare to approach you freely."
Darcien's voice was quiet, low, and steady. "It is tolerable."
Elowen laughed softly, a sound almost too light for the still carriage. "Tolerable," she repeated, as though savoring the word. "I suppose we have four days of tolerable company together, then. That's… comforting."
A faint crease appeared between his brows, though his eyes never left the road. She could feel the weight of his gaze, sharp as always, yet there was something in the silence—a small acknowledgment—that most others would never earn.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The carriage swayed and the hooves clattered along the stones. And yet, Elowen felt a strange ease. She was talking to the Monster Prince, and though his silence remained, the air between them felt less oppressive than in the palace halls.
Four days of journey. Four days to observe, to learn, and perhaps to understand the man everyone else feared—without hinting at anything about herself that could raise suspicion.
And she would not waste a single moment.