Chapter Seven #2
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 pour into 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 but energized.
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 feel uneasy. 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 steps around 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.
Alder is already walking, following the guards, but I barely notice until his hand clamps firmly around my elbow.
“Try to keep up, Gemma.” His grip is unyielding, but there’s a spark of mirth in his gaze that makes my teeth clench. “I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re always lagging behind.”
I yank my arm free with a glare, but despite my irritation, I follow him. My steps falter as we near the platform, and the sound of rushing water grows louder. One of the waterfalls splits like a curtain. It doesn’t slow or lessen in force, it simply…parts.
The water cascades to either side with a hiss that reverberates through the air and shakes the ground beneath my feet. Mist sprays outward in delicate arcs, catching the sunlight and scattering it into colored light that shimmers against the burbling moat below.
Behind the parted veil, the ferry emerges, its dark, polished wood glinting as if freshly lacquered. The sharp prow cuts through the waves as the vessel glides forward.
The ferry’s hull is massive, sleek, and carved with deep serpent-like grooves that funnel the water away, keeping it gleaming and mostly dry despite the churning spray.
The railings are lined with ornate silver filigree patterns that twist and curl like the flow of the water around it, their edges catching the light and throwing it back in dizzying swirls.
As the ferry nears the platform, steam hisses from hidden vents along its sides, curling upward in ghostly tendrils that mingle with the mist.
The figure at the helm steps forward, their silhouette sharpening.
They’re cloaked in deep midnight blue, and their face is obscured by a smooth metallic mask gleaming cold in the sunlight.
The mask is expressionless, featureless except for the faint ridges where eyes, a nose, and a mouth should be.
A chill skates between my shoulders. “Are we crossing the Styx?” I mutter under my breath, my voice trembling slightly despite my attempt at sarcasm.
Alder hears me. His lips twitch. “Sweetheart, if this is the afterlife, you’re stuck with me for eternity.”
I shoot him a look. “Then I’d rather take my chances with the underworld.”
He tsks, shaking his head. “That’s no way to talk to the man who’s saving you.”
“The man who thinks he owns me,” I correct, folding my arms.
“Tomato, tomahto,” he drawls. “Either way, you’re mine.”
The ferry halts with a smooth, almost imperceptible motion, bobbing gently in the rippling moat. The parted waterfall continues to hiss behind it, a shimmering veil just waiting to trap us inside.
The masked figure at the helm tilts their head in silent acknowledgment.
My stomach twists. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
The guards march ahead, boots thumping against the wood as they file onto the ferry. Alder, of course, follows without hesitation, stepping onto the deck like this is a VIP yacht experience. I advance slowly, every cell in my body screaming not to, but I force my feet to step on board.
The ferry glides forward, the oars cutting through the silvery water in steady, rhythmic strokes. The metallic tang grows sharper as we move toward the castle, and I grip the edge of the ferry, my knuckles white against the polished wood.
It’s salt. I tell myself, my gaze flicking to the cascading waterfalls and the churning moat. It’s just salt from the water. That’s it.
But the taste lingers on my tongue, metallic and wrong, coating the back of my throat like blood.
Alder leans against the rail beside me, his golden hair catching the sunlight. “You look like you’re about to throw up.” His voice is far too amused for the current level of holy shit we’re experiencing.
“I’m fine,” I snap, even though I’m absolutely not fine.
“You sure?” He eyes me, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “You get this cute little wrinkle right here”—he taps his index finger between my brows—“when you’re spiraling.”
I swat his hand away. “I am not spiraling. Stop saying that.”
“Really?” He leans in, voice dropping to a lazy murmur. “Because you’re gripping that railing like it owes you money.”
I glance down. My fingers are clenched so tight around the polished wood that they look about three seconds from snapping off.
Slowly, I peel them away and shake out my hands.
“Unclench,” Alder advises, grinning like a bastard.
“Unclench?” I repeat, my voice pitching higher. “We’re being ferried across a moat by a masked…Grim Reaper impersonator to a castle that looks like it was designed by Tim Burton, and you think I’m the problem?”
Alder sighs like I’m exhausting but adorable and steps behind me, wrapping himself around me, his warmth pressing against my back. His arms don’t cage me in exactly—but they could. Easily.
“See, this is what happens when you spend too much time away from me.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “You get all wound up.”
My mouth falls open. “I was only away from you for six months.”
“And in those six months, you clearly worked yourself into a state.” His hands slide up my arms, then settle at my shoulders, kneading gently. “You need me to keep you occupied. Trust me, Gemma. I know what’s best for you.”
The waterfall towers above us now, its thunderous roar vibrating through the ferry, through me. The mist clings to my skin, and I feel so lost I could cry.
I exhale slowly, forcing my shoulders to stay tense beneath his hands. “I don’t actually trust you.”
“No?” Alder makes a low sound, something between a chuckle and a hum of disapproval. “That’s cute.”
I scowl. “It’s not cute, it’s a fact.”
His thumbs press deeper into the knots at my shoulders, working the tension apart like he has the right to undo me.
“Oh, sweetheart.” His tone is thoroughly unimpressed. “It always takes people a minute to reacclimate after they realize they’ve been outmaneuvered.”
My stomach clenches. It’s a throwaway comment, meant to needle me, to remind me that he’s always three steps ahead. But the way he says it?
I stiffen, shrugging away from his touch. “I hate this…everything. Being stuck in some strange world with you.” The lie tastes like chalk, dry and crumbling.
The waterfall closes behind us with a roar, the sound swallowing the air as the shimmering curtain seals us in. There’s no turning back.
“You don’t hate being here with me,” Alder murmurs, his voice all whiskey and smoke, his fingers just shy of entwining with mine. He leans down, close enough that I can feel his smirk without even seeing it. “You just hate that, even in another world, I’m still always right.”
My lips part—for what, I don’t know. Because the truth, no matter how much I want to avoid it, is painfully, undeniably clear.
He’s not wrong.